


Pomp and Circumstances

by Lady_Saddlebred



Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me [25]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6743413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Saddlebred/pseuds/Lady_Saddlebred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a fairly short chapter, but there'll be longer ones soon.  Stay tuned.</p></blockquote>





	1. Dark clouds on the horizon...

Title: Pomp and Circumstances

Author: Lady_Saddlebred (cdelapin@yahoo.com)

Archive: Yes, please

Category: Q/O, Alternate Reality, Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort 

Rating: R

Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me in School

 

DISCLAIMER: George Lucas owned everything, until he sold it to Disney. We own nothing, just playing in his playground.

 

Special thanks to Katbear and Merry Amelie, betas par excellence! Any mistakes are mine.

 

A special thank you to Helen.

 

Previous fics in series: all on AO3 website: Early Admission Lessons They Never Taught Me in School Lessons That Were Never on the Syllabus That Which Does Not Go to School Rainy Day Recess Of Popcorn and Pine Trees Fit to Print Daffodils Spring Cotillion Is That a Lightsaber I See Before Me A Pen for Your Thoughts When I Was Your Age Partners Mum’s the Word Best Laid Plans An Apple for Teacher What’s for Supper Pacifier Snow Angels One Man’s Junk May I Have This Dance Four Green Fields 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn pushed back from the big partner’s desk with a sigh. Merciful heavens, he was tired. Exam Week was stressful by definition, but somehow the entire semester had been especially difficult. 

 

He ignored the sibilant whisper in his head that blamed the omnipresent paranoia over his and Ben’s relationship being discovered. The rest of the world cared not a whit whether two adult men slept together, but the Academy was its own little encapsulated realm, with its own rules and regulations. So they loved in secret, and suffered in silence.

 

There was a knock at the door of the study, and Ben stuck his head in. “Thought you could use this.” He held out a glass of Jameson’s. “Take a break, love.”

 

“Cheers,” Quinn muttered, then took a swallow. “Oh, that’s grand. How did ye know?”

 

“You’ve been shut up in here for hours. Wasn’t hard,” Ben said, with a sympathetic grin. He moved behind Quinn’s chair and began massaging his shoulders. “You’re really tense. Come upstairs and I’ll give you a good back rub. You’ll feel better.” 

 

Quinn leaned back, eyes closed, head resting gratefully against Ben’s chest. “Wish I could, but I’ve still got the advanced levels to get through. Deborah will have my head if I don’t get the grades posted by the deadline. And my seniors will be expectin’ their dinner invites.” He took another fortifying swallow of the whiskey, then resolutely picked up his red grading pen.

 

“You’re the only professor that does that, you know. Inviting them into your home, cooking them dinner, homemade dandelion wine. No wonder you’re so popular,” Ben joked, continuing to knead the muscles in Quinn’s neck and upper back. 

 

“Aye, I know,” Quinn said, with a sigh. “The first time was a bit of a lark, with only four invitees. Somehow it’s turned into a tradition, and I can’t disappoint them.” He reached for another pile of test papers. “That feels a lot better, thanks. Don’t wait up; I may be here all night. Go to bed.”

 

Ben kissed the top of Quinn’s head. “Bernie and I’ll be in the living room.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben glanced up as the lantern clock over the fireplace chimed. Three a.m. And Quinn was still in his study. He’d been in there most of the day, grading final exams and papers. He’d urged Ben to find other amusements this weekend, but Ben had insisted on coming over as usual, if only to ensure Quinn stopped long enough to eat, and maybe grab an hour or two of sleep. Times like this, the man needed a keeper. 

 

Not for the first time, Ben thanked God he’d never considered going into teaching. Even though the tests were done on-line, Quinn stubbornly clung to pen and paper, not trusting the computer software to handle *his* students’ grades. He hand-wrote the exams, along with the answers, and then grudgingly permitted them to be uploaded to the test sites. Despite Ben’s assurances that the state-of-the-art grading programs were periodically monitored, checked and double-checked, Quinn insisted on printing off random answer sheets and personally inspecting them against the software for accuracy. Though his tests were comprehensive, he graded fairly and seldom had to resort to “curving” the results. 

 

But it took its toll. Adele had nursed him through the last several years; now Ben had largely assumed that responsibility, with her blessing. 

 

Ben sighed, and shut down his laptop. He knew there was no point in trying to talk Quinn into stopping for the night; he’d already been politely rebuffed, even after the bribe of a back rub. The whiskey had been clearly appreciated, but Ben had seen the weariness in the blue eyes, the slumped shoulders. It felt somehow disloyal to go to bed and leave him working. Surely Quinn had made enough progress by now that he could afford to grab a few hours’ sleep. He could go back to it tomorrow. 

 

He stood and motioned to Bernini, who followed him down the hall to the study. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn vaguely registered the knock on the door, gripped by the exam he had already reviewed three times.

 

“Babe, it’s after three. Come to bed. You need a break.” Ben’s voice was soft, entreating, and Quinn nodded absently, looking back and forth between the exam and the answer sheet. Then a hand gripped his shoulder. “Quinn, it’s late. Get some sleep, and finish up tomorrow.”

 

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Quinn muttered. “There’s no way…” 

 

“What doesn’t?” Ben asked quietly, stroking the back of Quinn’s neck. Usually soothing, the touch irritated and he reflexively pulled away. Ben moved around to the other side of the desk, careful not to disturb the stacks of papers held down with a variety of paperweights. He knew from experience not to mess with Quinn’s idiosyncratic filing system.

 

“Eh?” Quinn glanced up. “Oh, hello, Ben. Haven’t you gone to bed yet? What time is it?”

 

“No, not yet,” Ben said patiently. “Bernie and I’ve been waiting up on you. What doesn’t make sense?”

 

“Sorry? Oh, you mean-” Quinn glanced back down at the paper he was holding. “This exam, it’s almost as if she- well, it’s all… *wrong*. Almost every answer is just… It’s shaggin’ gobshite, it is.” He pulled off his reading glasses and scrubbed at his aching eyes. 

 

Ben slid the test paper out from under Quinn’s hand. Pulling it toward him, he whistled disbelievingly at the bloodbath from Quinn’s grading pen. “Holy shit. “Whose is it?”

 

“Xandra Criton.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Xandra Criton. The raven-haired senior was the bane of Ben’s existence. He remembered the incident the previous Fall, when she’d cavalierly assumed he would help her cheat on her mid-terms, and her furious reaction when he had declined. She was a major pain in his ass, and he’d been looking forward to when she’d finally be out of their hair for good. In her eyes, Ben was lower than the dirt under her Jimmy Choos. If she knew he and Quinn were a couple, she’d probably get a contract out on him.

 

He knew Quinn had worried about her performance this semester. But could she have actually failed a final exam? In her major? “Quinn, look, you’ve been going non-stop for hours. It’s probably not as bad as it looks. Maybe you got the answer sheets mixed up. Put it aside. Get some sleep. You can print off another copy of her answers tomorrow. I’m sure it’s not-”

 

“It is.” Quinn’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “I’ve checked it three times. She *flunked* it, Ben, and royally, too. How the holy hell…” He shook his head and crumbled the answer sheet, throwing it in the general direction of the overflowing trash can.

 

That did it. “Enough,” Ben said firmly. “You’re going to bed, if I have to drag you up the stairs myself, and sedate you. Any more, and you’ll end up screwing up somebody else’s scores. Stand up. *Now*.” His take-charge tone brooked no opposition.

 

Quinn glared at him for a moment, then sighed and nodded. Capping his grading pen, he rose and allowed Ben to steer him out of the study and down the hall to the stairs.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben drew the drapes and climbed into bed with a sigh of relief. Quinn had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Even a few hours’ rest would make a world of difference. 

 

Staring up at the ceiling, he thought back to the conversation downstairs. What if Xandra really *had* failed an exam in her major? Quinn certainly seemed to think so. Hopefully it was just a fluke, a computer glitch. But no, Quinn had said he’d checked it three times, with the same result. Ben mentally crossed his fingers and hoped like hell a fresh look in the daylight would provide the answer.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn awoke mid-morning, refreshed and ready to tackle the remainder of the exams. He hated to wait until the last minute to get the grades in, and not just because of the dirty looks and pointed reminders from the Dean’s Office. 

 

Ben had risen before him, taken Bernini out for his morning walk and made a hearty breakfast, with a pot of strong Earl Gray tea. Not for the first time Quinn thanked God for his lover – handsome, intelligent, loyal, generous to a fault. And sexy as hell, in and out of the bedroom. Quinn smiled into his mug. As soon as graduation was over, he was whisking his lad away on a well-deserved vacation. He and Adele traditionally spent a couple of weeks in Europe over the summer, but she’d opted to teach summer session. Quinn suspected it had less to do with additional income than endorsing his and Ben’s need to get away for some much-needed privacy.

 

“Cheers, love,” he said, and Ben nodded from across the table. “Should be able to finish up today, God willing.”

 

“I’m going to run over to the campus and check the computer servers on the tests. Maybe there’s a virus or something,” Ben replied. “I can review the logs, see if anyone else has noticed any problems with poor scores.”

 

“Good idea,” Quinn agreed. “I only hope it’s something that simple. To explain, I mean,” he added hastily, as Ben’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t mean to suggest that it would be ‘simple’ to fix, of course.”

 

“Get to work, you slugabed,” Ben said, with an easy laugh. “I’ll clean up the kitchen and then go see what I can find. I’ll even pick up lunch on the way back, okay?”

 

“Right-o,” Quinn said, rising from his chair. “I’ll just get a refill and then I’ll be in the study. Thanks again, love.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben scrutinized the server logs, but found nothing out of the ordinary. He ran his usual security checks and verified the back-up had gone off on schedule. He’d hated the idea of abandoning Quinn, but remote access to the campus servers was limited, and if he’d found anything he’d probably have had to come in anyway. But everything appeared in order. No emails or texts from any other departments with similar issues, not even anything from the other professors in Quinn’s department. 

 

He had no access to the students’ individual records, of course. The faculty posted the grades via a direct uplink, but once done, they could not be edited without Admissions Office direct intervention. Ben had installed the systems himself, complete with multiple firewalls. He’d campaigned for a “back door” in case of emergencies, but the Dean had turned a deaf ear, as usual.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn leaned back in his desk chair and rubbed the side of his nose. Damn. There was no mistake. He’d printed off a clean copy of Xandra’s answers, hoping against hope that he’d just mixed up the exams last night. But the lass might as well have closed her eyes and picked answers at random. She’d gotten a few right, ironically including some of the harder questions, but even giving her every benefit of the doubt, she’d flunked her final exam in a *required* course. An exam that counted for 50% of her total grade. It simply made no sense.

 

The girl was highly intelligent; she wouldn’t have been at the Academy otherwise, no matter how much money her parents poured into its coffers. But her performance had been less than stellar from the beginning. He’d been taken aback when she’d declared her major in biology at the end of sophomore year. Against his better judgment, he’d agreed, steadfastly deflecting all attempts to pursue a more personal relationship. To do otherwise, even if he’d wanted to, would have been professional suicide. 

 

He checked the other students’ results – two perfect scores, a handful with a few wrong answers. Xandra’s stood out as the only unqualified failure. He meditatively sipped his tea, trying to puzzle it out.

 

Turning back to the computer, he pulled up Xandra’s Advanced Botanicals II progress, comparing it to the previous semester’s results. She’d acquitted herself fairly well on lab assignments and projects, though Quinn suspected it was largely through the efforts of her smitten lab partner. Ironically, his had been one of the two perfect scores on the same final Xandra had so catastrophically failed. Something to be said for karma.

 

She’d made a decent showing in the first half of the course. Which called to mind his shock when Ben had reluctantly divulged her request to help her cheat on her mid-terms. He recalled the handprint on the lad’s cheek, where she had assaulted him for daring to refuse her demand. He had related the incident to Mark Winters at the campus Halloween party the following evening, but the Dean had predictably fixated on her parents’ financial contributions to the school, as if that somehow entitled the lass to special dispensation. When she publicly abused Ben that same night, it had given Quinn no end of satisfaction to have her thrown out of Sydney Hall. By God, she was one of *his* seniors, and he wasn’t about to let her get away with such behavior. She’d thank him for it one day.

 

In hindsight, he knew he should have reported her to the Honor Court, or even straight to the Board of Governors. But out of concern that it might impact Ben’s position, he’d compromised by rewriting the exams for all his courses, instructing his department to do the same, and to change their passwords on the test sites. “Professor Fossil” he might be in the eyes of his students, but even he understood the need for basic security precautions. Ironically, she had done fairly well on her mid-term, finishing the class with a low “B”.

 

ABII, as it was listed in the curriculum, was the second half of the two-part Advanced Botanicals course, building on the previous semester. Quinn enjoyed teaching the class, which involved experimental projects in the Academy greenhouse, lab work and two papers per semester on a list of pre-approved topics. Xandra’s submissions were competent, though she’d likely never be invited to publish in the field. Fashion magazines were probably more her thing. Quinn had been privately amused at the thought of those carefully manicured and lacquered fingernails digging in the loamy soil. She’d scraped by on the lab work, again probably due to the efforts of her lovesick partner. She treated him like dirt, but the poor bugger didn’t seem to notice.

 

Classes had been larger than usual this past semester, and the lab assignments, exams and papers had increased exponentially. So much so, in fact, that he’d reluctantly broken down and accepted Mark’s offer of an assistant. Jim Patterson had graduated the Academy with honors the year before, and was now pursuing his Masters in botany. In exchange for access to Quinn’s personal library, he tirelessly input Quinn’s lecture notes and lab assignments, even coordinated reordering supplies when they ran low. He could have taught the freshman-level introductory course with his eyes closed. But even Jim didn’t have access to the rewritten tests Quinn had devised last semester, after Ben had told him about Xandra’s attempt to beat the system. Call it an overdeveloped sense of responsibility (or paranoia, take your pick), but Quinn had reserved that task for himself.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“I don’t know what to do, jolie. She shouldn’t be invited to the dinner, but to not include her would open her to ridicule from her classmates. And that just seems wrong, too.” Quinn sighed and leaned against the bookcase in Adele’s office, staring glumly out the window.

 

Adele regarded him sympathetically from her desk. He wasn’t the only one who would be glad to see the raven-haired senior graduate. But now apparently even that wasn’t a given. “You are sure she failed the exam?” she asked again.

 

Quinn nodded. “There was no mistake. She didn’t just fail; she *flunked* it. It was as if she didn’t even bother to read the questions! And it counts for half her grade. Given her lackadaisical work this semester, she’d about have had to ace it to pass.”

 

“Then she has failed the course, and you cannot certify her to graduate.” Adele nodded. “It seems simple enough.”

 

Quinn turned from the window. “I can hear Mark right now, can’t you? ‘But the Critons are major financial contributors to the school.’” He laughed bitterly. “As if that should make a difference.” 

 

“Come sit down, cheri, and we will think of something.” She rose and pulled him to one of the chairs opposite her desk, then took the seat next to him. “If this were anyone else but Mademoiselle Criton, what would you do?”

 

Quinn shrugged. “Summer school. Retake the course, get a passing grade, and the fail would be stricken from the record.” 

 

“Exactement. And you made it very clear from the start that she should not expect any preferential treatment. So you must now tell her she has not passed, and is ineligible to graduate until and unless she retakes the course in summer school.” 

 

“Oh, I know what I *should* do, jolie,” he said heavily. “But somehow I don’t think she or her parents are going to take it very well.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn. Just when I thought I was finally going to be rid of the spoiled little bitch.” He gave her a small smile. “Excusez-moi.”

 

“Je vous excuse, mon coeur. Elle *est* une petite garce, and I will be as happy as you to see the back of her.” She kissed his cheek. “Now, go play the villain and tell her she has, how do you say, ‘screwed up.’”

 

~*~*~*~

 

“But, Professor, you can’t-” Xandra began, but Quinn shook his head.

 

“I’m sorry, Xandra, but you did not pass the final exam, or the course. Which means that you are ineligible to matriculate. My hands are tied.” 

 

“But I *have* to graduate! Please,” she whimpered, tears beginning to flow from her heavily mascaraed eyes. He handed her his handkerchief, trying not to wince at the smears of eyeliner and shadow. “I’ll do anything, Professor.” She leaned forward, evidently expecting him to take her in his arms and comfort her. Or worse. He remained still, arms resolutely at his sides. Puzzled disappointment briefly flickered over her face, then was quickly, expertly masked.

 

“Xandra, you knew this was a required course for your major. Your classwork hasn’t exactly been outstanding, but if you had gotten a high grade on the exam, you might have pulled it off. As it is…” Quinn spread his hands. “There’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry.” He thumbed through her file, listening to her sobs as she mopped her eyes with his handkerchief. “You can retake the course in summer school,” he began, but she angrily cut him off.

 

“I’m going to *Europe* this summer! I leave the day after graduation, Professor! I *can’t* go to summer school. It’s impossible!” She stalked around the room, arms waving in the air, as if to punctuate her protests. Then she stopped, wheels visibly turning. Quinn mentally steeled himself. 

 

There it was, the provocative sway of the hips, the sly ‘come hither’ look, the pouting lower lip. Good Lord, he thought to himself, how many others has she tried this on? Had it been Ben gliding toward him in that manner, he’d probably have been hard as steel. Instead, he felt nothing but vague distaste.

 

She sidled around the corner of his desk, now mere inches away from him. The combination of heavy perfume and distress sweat was enough to make his eyes water. She leaned against his shoulder, unfettered breasts pressing into his arm through her thin blouse. “I’m sure we can make this right, Professor,” she said softly, lips almost grazing his ear. “Tell me what you want. Some new equipment for your lab? I can get it for you. A bigger office? It’s yours.” She maneuvered until she was practically in his lap, pinning him in his desk chair. “Or maybe you’d prefer something more… personal.”

 

Quinn carefully set her away from him, forcing himself to remain calm. “Xandra, this is not helping the situation. I’m sorry, but I can’t rewrite the rules for you. Summer school is your only option. You passed the first part of the course. Dr. Addison has agreed to teach ABII this summer.” He gave her a thin smile. “Trust me, Europe will still be there when you’re finished.” 

 

She stared disbelievingly. “You can’t be serious.” It wasn’t a question. 

 

Quinn nodded. “I’m afraid I am.” He returned her file to his drawer, a signal that the interview was over. She didn’t take the hint.

 

“But the graduation dinner. If I’m not there, then everyone will know, and-” She dabbed her eyes again with his handkerchief. “Professor, don’t embarrass me in front of my friends.”

 

Quinn sighed. “The dinner is for graduates only, Xandra. You know that,” he reminded her. 

 

Xandra nodded tearfully. “But if I retake the course, like you said…”

 

Quinn shook his head. “I’m sorry, Xandra. You haven’t completed the requirements. I’m afraid I can’t invite you. But I’ll make your excuses.”

 

The girl nodded. “I understand.” She turned and slowly made her way to the door, still clutching his monogrammed linen handkerchief.

 

Quinn sighed. Not a pleasant conversation, but apparently she’d accepted the situation. Hopefully, she’d just go to summer school as he’d suggested, and then she’d finally be gone.

 

He should have known better.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben arrived at the brownstone Friday evening with a large supreme pizza and a six-pack of beer. He knew Quinn would be busy preparing for the graduation dinner, so he’d offered to take care of dinner. Bernini had been delivered to a kennel for the weekend. 

 

They ate at the bar, savoring the casual intimacy. Then, by mutual consent, they adjourned to the master bedroom suite, forsaking the spotlessly clean living room. A long cozy shower, and they climbed into bed. Both were exhausted from the long work week, plus prepping for the weekend festivities. They cuddled for a while and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn woke Ben the next morning with a leisurely seduction that left both of them grinning like fools afterward. They showered together again, then Ben made breakfast before waving Quinn off to the study to finish up his end-of-school-year paperwork. He put the kitchen to rights, then took a turn around the lower level, checking for anything that might alert an outsider to his presence. In the living room, he considered, then moved the picture of Quinn and Adele to the mantel. Yeah, it looked good there. Adele smiled beatifically at him, as if in total agreement. 

 

Climbing the stairs, he entered the master bedroom, and paused in the doorway. The St. Sebastian picture on the wall outside the bathroom drew his eye like a magnet. He studied himself, remembering the stunned look on Quinn’s face when he’d opened the package at the cabin Valentine’s Day weekend. Quinn still called him “Sebastian” on occasion, their private joke. It had sure spiced up their sex life...

 

He sighed, then carefully lifted the picture down. A bit of toothpaste handily filled in the nail hole left behind. The framed portrait was slid underneath the king-sized bed as far as he could reach. He knew he was probably worrying over nothing, but what if one of the guests needed to use the upstairs bathroom? Smoothing out the bedspread, he glanced around for any other telltale signs. Green silk robe stuffed in the closet. Toiletries swept into the vanity drawer, check. Fresh towels and toilet paper, very good. He knew better than to mess with Joseph Donovan’s art books scattered all over the room. Those were sacrosanct. 

 

Satisfied, he grabbed up his backpack and headed back downstairs to help with any last-minute set-up. He met Quinn in the foyer. 

 

“All set for a fun night at the flicks?” Quinn asked.

 

“I’ll come back and help you clean up after,” Ben offered.

 

“Not necessary, thanks, love,” Quinn answered, retrieving the freshly dry-cleaned and starched linen tablecloth from the hall closet. “You go enjoy yourself. I’ve been doing this for a while now; got it down to a system.” 

 

The brass chandelier emphasized the grain of the ladder-back chairs and the walnut buffet. The room smelt pleasantly of lemon and beeswax. Ben was reminded of the first time Quinn had invited him to dinner. He could still taste the homemade spaghetti sauce. “No, I’ll come back tonight,” he insisted, as he helped Quinn unfold and spread the tablecloth. “Be sure to save me some of that dandelion wine.”

 

“I always make extra,” Quinn said absently, adding napkins to each place setting, and fiddling with the dimmer switch on the wall. The flatware, china and crystal waiting on the buffet glimmered in the sunlight from the big bay window. “But it’s pretty strong stuff, so small quantities are best.”

 

“Yes, Professor,” Ben said obediently. “Do you let the kids drive home after drinking it?”

 

Quinn gave him a reproachful glance. “Of course not. I hire one of the campus vans to pick them up and deliver them home. No exceptions.”

 

Ben grinned. “I can hear the Dean right now if one of them got picked up for a DUI leaving here.”

 

“Aye,” Quinn replied, raising a glass to the light and wiping away an errant fingerprint. “That was the compromise we reached when I added in the homemade wine a few years back. And the students have to sign liability waivers as part of the RSVP, besides. Tacky, I know, but necessary. At least they’re all above the age of consent.”

 

“Hmm, what happens when it’s Ani’s turn, I wonder? Will you have to give him a milkshake?” Ben teased, ducking as Quinn tossed the dishcloth at him.

 

“Ah, when my bonny wee laddie be ready to graduate, it’ll be a grand thing, and no mistake,” Quinn said, with a gleam in his eye. “But hopefully not for another year or two. I’d hate to lose him too early.” 

 

Ben knew all too well how fond Quinn was of his twelve-year-old “pet protégé.” The boy had surpassed all expectations during his freshman year, and was already pressing Quinn to allow him to declare his major in biology. Not that Quinn was likely to object, of course.

 

“Well, I’d better get going,” Ben said, gathering up his backpack. “Remember, I’m expecting leftovers.” The smells from the kitchen were making his stomach do somersaults.

 

“Spun and done,” Quinn promised. “Have a good time, love.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

The Academy van arrived and Quinn opened the front door to the happy sounds of his seniors calling greetings. The driver raised a friendly hand and Quinn nodded and waved as he pulled away. He’d be back in a few hours to collect his pleasantly buzzed passengers and see them safely home. The man was well paid for his overtime, including a bottle of Quinn’s infamous dandelion wine.

 

“Come in, everybody,” Quinn said, leading them into the living room where light hors d’oeuvres were set out on the coffee table. “Glad to see you all could make it. Hope you brought your appetites.” Affirmative nods and oohs and ahhs as the students milled around the room, admiring the furnishings. He explained the claymore and scabbard over the fireplace, the breakfront, and smiled sociably as the picture of he and Adele was examined. No, sorry, no engagement announcements tonight.

 

The doorknocker sounded. Opening the front door, he was surprised to see Xandra Criton standing on the front step, wearing a tightly cinched Burberry trench coat and high-heeled sandals. She gave him a dazzling smile and stepped inside before he could stop her.

 

“Sorry I’m late, Professor. I missed the van, so I just grabbed a cab. Hi, everybody,” she called gaily to her classmates in the living room, who chorused greetings in return. Her dark eyes dared him to call her bluff, and Quinn forced a smile as he took her coat. Her low-cut cocktail dress hugged every curve. “Oh, Professor, your home is so beautiful! And dinner smells incredible. I’m starving.”

 

“So glad you could join us, Xandra,” Quinn said stiffly. A less-than-gentle shove between her shoulder blades propelled her into the living room, and she stumbled slightly on the antique carpet. “I need to check on dinner. Excuse me.” He walked quickly down the hall to the kitchen, where he could compose himself. The spoiled little bitch. He had made it clear she had not earned an invitation to the dinner, and she’d shown up anyway. Well, nothing for it but to let the evening play itself out, he thought, as he hastily added another place setting. It was only for a few hours, after all.

 

~*~*~*~

 

After about a half hour of cocktail conversation, Quinn led his guests into the dining room, where each guest was served a glass of his homemade dandelion wine. This particular vintage was about five years old, and had turned out particularly well. He stood at the head of the table and raised his glass. “To the Academy’s Class of 2016. It has been both a privilege and a pleasure to watch each of you grow into the fine ladies and gentlemen I see before me. I wish you all the best as you venture out into the great beyond. Slàinte.” 

 

~*~*~*~

 

The downstairs had been put to rights, the leftovers were in the refrigerator, and the wine was corked and stored. Quinn walked upstairs, not bothering to stifle a yawn. He could see a dim light through the partially opened bedroom door, and idly wondered if he’d forgotten to turn something off earlier. No matter. All he wanted right now was a hot shower, a good night’s sleep, and to wake up in the morning next to Ben. Entering the bedroom, he pulled up short.

 

Xandra lay across the king-sized bed, wearing a lazy smile and very little else. The light he’d seen came from scented candles arranged around the room, some perilously close to his father’s art books. The blatant seduction scene left him cold. 

 

“Xandra,” he said, as politely as he could manage through clenched teeth, “Everyone else has already left for the night. May I call you a cab?”

 

The raven-haired girl slowly rose up on one elbow. “I’ve been waiting for you, Professor,” she cooed, holding out a slim hand in invitation.

 

Quinn felt the bile rising in his throat. Clenching his fists at his sides, he strode purposefully into the bathroom and returned with his silk robe, which he tossed onto the bed. “Get up, Xandra. Get up, get dressed and get out.” His voice was low, quiet and intense. He was furious.

 

“Oh, Quinn, you don’t mean that. You’ve wanted me for ages. You just wouldn’t let yourself be with me because you were my teacher. But exams are all over with now. We’re free.” She lay back on the bed again, arms over her head, body stretched, catlike, across the Egyptian cotton sheets. The same sheets on which he and Ben had made love that morning, Quinn thought ironically. Wonder if she can tell?

 

“I mean precisely that. *Now*, please.” He chose to ignore the reference to exams for the moment. 

 

Xandra sat up again, still with that practiced sultry smile she obviously felt was irresistible to any man alive. “Oh, baby, no one’s here but you and me. And I want you *sooo* much…” She actually wriggled on the sheets. Quinn felt nauseous. He knew better than to try physically removing her from the bed, or from the room. He could hear his father’s voice in his head: Be not after puttin’ yer hand into the lion’s maw, lad. Ye’ll get it back minus a few fingers. 

 

He walked to the bedroom door, opened it wide and gestured to the nearly naked girl on the bed. “Xandra, this is the last time I’m going to say this. Get. Out. *Now*. Or I’m calling the police.”

 

The lithe sex kitten abruptly morphed into a snarling panther. “How *dare* you! You’ve been wanting this ever since you first laid eyes on me, and you *know* it! If you think you can just throw me out, like some two-bit call girl-” She looked ready to chew nails and spit tacks.

 

“Oh no, Xandra, you’re no call girl,” Quinn said icily. “Call girls are pre-arranged, and the *good* ones are highly paid. You’ve brought this on yourself, m’girl, and for free. I do not pay for sex, and if I did, it would hardly be with a student less than half my age, no matter how enticing she might consider herself.” He took a deep breath. “If I have ever given you the slightest indication of any sexual interest in you, then you have my apologies for the misunderstanding. But let me make this perfectly clear, here and now, and for the last time: I am *not* interested. Period. Now get your clothes on and leave. And do not come back. I will be downstairs and will wait exactly” – he pulled out his silver pocket watch and showed her the time – “fifteen minutes, starting now. If you are not off my premises by then, the police will remove you.” He turned to leave, but her scornful voice stopped him.

 

“What will you tell them, *Professor*? That I was a guest at your home tonight, in celebration of graduation, and somehow ended up in your bedroom? After everyone else had conveniently left? How will you explain that, exactly?” Quinn turned, but she went on before he could reply. “Because *my* version will be that *you* planned this, down to the most minute detail, how you told me to sneak upstairs, pretending to have a headache and looking for aspirin, and you’d get the others out of the house, so we could have our own *private* celebration. And of course I was completely taken in by the suave, sophisticated European older man. ‘After all,’” she pretended to whimper, “‘He told me he’d flunk me if I didn’t do what he said. Even keep me from graduating. What else could I do?’” She gave him a bitter, taunting smile. “Who do you think they’re going to believe, *Professor*?” 

 

Quinn’s jaw clinched. The bitch. He *should* summon the police, call her bluff. But *was* she faking? It did look very much like a planned seduction scene. She must have had the candles in her bag when she arrived earlier. God, he’d never get the odor out of the drapes.

 

Oh, shite, what about Ben? He’ll be here any minute! Would he think- Aw, get off, ye eejit, Ben knows better than that! 

 

Xandra rose slowly from the bed, charms on full display. She was a feast for the senses, but Quinn remained unmoved.

 

“You know why I’m here, Professor,” she crooned. “You can have me – *all* of me – right here and now. Just fix my grade so I can graduate, and I’m all yours. Anything you want. All night long. I can make it so good, you’ll never want me to leave.” She took a step toward him and he moved away, grimly pleased when she halted. He locked eyes with her, his tone measured but unwavering. 

 

“Xandra, you are *not* welcome here. Not now, or ever again. Fifteen minutes.” 

 

Then he turned and slowly went downstairs.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Hands shaking, Quinn poured himself a large brandy in the living room, trying desperately to think of a way to stop Ben in time. The weight against his hip as he turned from the breakfront had him reaching for the forgotten cell phone in his pocket, thanking every known deity he’d finally let Ben talk him into the damned thing. He quickly texted a message:

 

!URGENT!  
!DO NOT COME HOME!  
!WILL EXPLAIN LATER!

 

On impulse, he then dialed Adele, though he knew she was likely already in bed:

 

“… Allo?” Sleepily.

 

“Adele, jolie-” He heard steps on the stairs. 

 

“Quinn? Qu’est-ce que c’est?” Alert now.

 

“One moment, please.” He turned and saw Xandra standing in the doorway, coat pulled tightly closed around her. She was clearly still angry, but perhaps also a wee bit wary at the sight of the phone in his hand. Daring seized him. “Yes, Officer, I’d like to report a break-in at my home tonight. Yes. There was a window open downstairs when I got home. No, nothing seems to be missing, but I haven’t searched everywhere yet. Could you send over a car? I hate to disturb the neighbors, but-”

 

“*Quinn*! Are you all right? What is happening?” He hoped her voice didn’t carry across the room: it wasn’t likely a police dispatcher would have a French accent.

 

“No, thank you, Officer, I’m fine. No injury. The house *seems* clear, but I’d feel more comfortable if a professional could check it out as soon as possible. I’d like a report on file, for insurance purposes, you understand, in case something turns up missing or damaged. Hopefully it was just gatecrashers, out for a good time on a Saturday night. Yes, I understand. No, on reflection, first thing tomorrow morning would probably be better. Yes, thank you very much.” He palmed the cell, but left the connection open, so that Adele would be able to hear.

 

Xandra stared at him for a long moment, then her chin began to tremble and tears welled up in her eyes. “You really called the police? I- I thought you were bluffing.” She suddenly looked very young, and Quinn fought the urge to chuck her under the chin.

 

“Xandra,” he said, speaking slowly and distinctly, in a voice loud enough to carry across the room and also into the palmed phone, “I told you I would call the police if you did not leave my home. You were not invited to the graduation dinner tonight. You came on your own, and against my better judgment, I allowed you to stay. Any ideas you had for anything beyond that were strictly your own, and I had no part in it. I have never sought to have any kind of a personal relationship with you, now or in the future. I want that understood, here and now.” His tone gentled, entreating. “If you’ll leave quietly, we can agree to forget this evening ever happened. Don’t ruin everything you’ve worked for. I’m not worth it. Believe me.” 

 

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I *love* you, Quinn.” 

 

“No, lass, you don’t. You might be attracted to me, but you don’t love me. And I don’t love you. I’m flattered, truly I am, but there is absolutely no possibility of anything between us, now or ever. You have your whole life in front of you; don’t waste it on the likes of me.” He pulled out his handkerchief. “Dry your eyes, child, and leave. Please. Just go.”

 

Suddenly, a phone loudly rang behind him. He flinched, automatically glancing at the open cell phone hidden in his hand, then realized it was the landline next to his easy chair. With a watchful eye on the girl in the foyer, he moved to answer it. “Hello?”

 

“Quinn, what’s happening? Are you all right? Should I call the police? *Talk* to-”

 

“Ah, Adele, cherie, ça va? I was going to call once everything was cleaned up and settled for the night. Yes, the dinner was lovely, as always. No one got too tipsy on the wine. I’m exhausted, and heading for bed very soon, with a hot whiskey toddy. I’m getting too old to host these wild celebratory dinners anymore. Yes, very funny, jolie, I love you, too. Bonne nuit, my darling. I’ll call you in the morning. Sleep well.” He hung up the phone and deliberately turned back to Xandra.

 

The girl stared at her feet, then slowly moved toward the door, apparently convinced he was serious about her not staying. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder, looking very young and vulnerable in the dim foyer lighting. “I’m sorry, Professor.” She walked out, softly closing the door behind her.

 

Quinn sighed and dropped down into his chair, head in his hand. 

 

“Quinn?” The accented voice came from the cell phone in his other hand. He’d nearly forgotten it.

 

“Adele, merci mille fois, jolie. You’re an angel.”

 

“Are you all right, cheri?” Her sympathetic voice was a healing balm on his lacerated soul. He sighed.

 

“I will be. You heard?”

 

“Absolument. She has been planning this for a long time. Remember the Halloween party last year? She ate you up with her eyes the entire evening. It was… tres désagréable. I wanted to rip her lungs out and feed them to the company in front of her. Now, tell me what happened.” 

 

He told her. It felt good to let it go.

 

“Merde! Oh, Quinn, do you want to come over here tonight? Should I come there? Is Ben-” 

 

“Language, jolie.” He chuckled tiredly. “No, I’m fine. I think she understood. She left, anyway. I’m going to bed. I’ll deal with any fallout tomorrow. Merci encore. I love you.”

 

“Je t’aime aussi. Bonne nuit, mon cher.” The phone clicked softly.

 

Several minutes later, the garage door opened. “Quinn?”

 

Ben. Quinn sighed. “In here, love.”

 

Ben walked slowly into the living room. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

 

Quinn took a healthy swallow of brandy and smiled tiredly. “I am now.”

 

Ben reached for the snifter, took a gulp himself and set it on the end table. Then he sank down onto Quinn’s lap and held him close. “It’s okay. I’m here. It’s all right now,” he soothed.

 

“Adele called you, didn’t she?” Muffled into Ben’s shoulder. The adrenaline was wearing off now, and he was starting to shake.

 

“Yeah. Good thing, too; I was on my way to help you clean up. Then I got your text and didn’t know what to think. Adele called me right after that.” Ben kissed the silvering chestnut hair. “You were fucking brilliant, pretending to be talking to her like that. I knew she was on the cell with you, but I wanted so badly to *be* here with you, to help-”

 

“I know, but if you’d walked in while she was here, it would have made things a thousand times worse. It was the only thing I could think of. I’ll never again question you about needing that damned cell phone, though. It saved our skins tonight.” He sighed again, relaxing into Ben’s embrace, soaking up his presence like a sponge. Ben tightened his grip, letting him unwind in the semi-darkness. 

 

Several moments later, Quinn raised his head. “I think you’re putting my legs to sleep, love. What do you say we continue this somewhere a bit more comfortable, and a lot more private?” 

 

Ben softly wiped his lover’s pale face with his fingers, then rose and took his hand. “Bed time, old bean.” 

 

Arm in arm, they climbed the stairs.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn unbuttoned his dress shirt and tossed it in the hamper. Moving to the bathroom, he paused, frowning. “Ben,” he said slowly, “where’s your picture?”

 

“Hmm?” Ben said absently, as he stripped the bed, nose wrinkling at the heavy perfume permeating the sheets. No way they were going to sleep on *anything* that smacked of their unwelcome gatecrasher.

 

“The St. Sebastian picture,” Quinn repeated. “Where is it?”

 

Ben dumped the sheets and pillowcases on the floor. “Oh, I took it down before I left this afternoon,” he said offhandedly. 

 

Quinn studied him silently. Ben sighed and reached under the bed and withdrew the portrait. “See? No harm, no foul.”

 

Quinn ran a hand through his hair. “Damn. I didn’t even think-” He gave Ben a tired smile. “Thank you, love. That was bloody brilliant.” 

 

Ben shrugged. “A house full of tipsy graduates? Somebody could have needed to use the upstairs bathroom. Why take chances?” He reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out the nail and a tack hammer. “Want to do the honors?”

 

Quinn took the tools and gestured for him to site the picture on the wall, then carefully tapped in the nail. Brushing a finger across the dried toothpaste, he quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing. Ben grinned and reached for the bed linens on the floor. 

 

“I’ll run these down to the washer, be right back,” he said. A hand on his shoulder stopped him.

 

“Burn ‘em,” Quinn growled.

 

“Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme? These babies weren’t cheap,” Ben objected.

 

“*Burn* them,” Quinn repeated, enunciating precisely. “I don’t ever want to see them again, much less *sleep* on them.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Ben soothed. “It’s not as if we don’t have enough to put a different set on the bed every day, even twice a day.” He headed downstairs. Damn, I really liked these sheets…

 

~*~*~*~

 

Outside the brownstone, a shadowy figure watched as a familiar face and form approached the garage of the brownstone and let himself inside. Shortly thereafter, through the thin sheers in the upstairs bedroom window, she watched two silhouettes merge into one for a long moment before the lights went out.

 

Xandra smiled as she slowly walked away.

 

~tbc~


	2. Storm’s movin’ in…

~*~*~*~

 

Deborah Billingsley sorted through the mail, ranking it in order of importance. Only another week until graduation, then the school could heave a collective sigh of relief, at least until summer session began. She and several friends had rented a cottage on Cape Cod for a couple of weeks, and she had a new bikini that-

 

She paused. The plain white envelope had no return address, and was postmarked from Boston. It was marked CONFIDENTIAL, EYES ONLY. 

 

She deposited the rest of the mail in the Dean’s In-Box. The letter was placed carefully in the middle of his desk blotter.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben stared at his computer screen. The message was succinct: the Dean requested his presence immediately.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Dean Winters asked to see me,” Ben said apprehensively. 

 

Deborah nodded. “He’s waiting for you,” she said softly. She looked… worried. She pressed the intercom button. “Mr. Kensington to see you, sir.”

 

“Send him in,” came the deep voice.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Good morning, Dean Winters,” Ben said politely.

 

“Shut the door,” the Dean said, not looking up from his desk. Yeah, that didn’t bode well.

 

Ben did as he was asked, then approached the desk, waiting politely until the Dean glanced up and motioned for him to take a seat. He could already feel the sweat between his shoulder blades, and hoped his nervousness didn’t show. He asked himself how Quinn would react in such a moment, and felt his spine stiffen. Whatever it was, he’d roll with it. 

 

Dean Winters regarded him silently for several moments, and Ben tried not to squirm. He deferentially met the dark man’s gaze, and waited for him to speak. Quinn hummed approvingly in his head, and he drew courage from the unseen support.

 

“Mr. Kensington, a matter has come to my attention that I believe directly impacts you. A rather… unpleasant matter.” The Dean reached into his drawer and pulled out a white envelope. He glanced down at it, then up at Ben again, before removing a single sheet of paper. “It has been alleged that you and another Academy faculty member have been engaging in activities of a… personal nature.” He paused, as if waiting for a reaction. Ben said nothing. “I have asked you here today to learn if there is any truth to these allegations.”

 

Ben felt the blood rush to his feet. How had they been found out? And who would be vindictive enough to use that knowledge against them? Adele was the only one who knew the truth. Surely, she would never-

 

“Mr. Kensington?” The deep voice drew him back to the present.

 

“Yes, sir?” Ben said, mind still racing. 

 

“Have you, in fact, been intimate with a member of the Academy’s faculty or staff?” The tone was deceptively calm, but the brown eyes were unwavering. Ben felt like a bug under Quinn’s electron microscope.

 

“May I know who is making the charge, sir?” he asked, stalling for time. His instincts screamed not to volunteer anything.

 

“You may not,” the Dean answered stiffly. “Please answer the question.”

 

Ben took a deep breath and bowed to the inevitable. “It’s true, sir,” he said quietly.

 

“I see,” the Dean said. “And who is the other party?”

 

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Ben replied. 

 

“Really,” the Dean said scathingly. “How chivalrous of you.” He looked down at the sheet of paper again. Ben could see that the words were typewritten, a couple of short paragraphs, with no obvious signature. “Does the phrase ‘moral turpitude’ mean anything to you, Mr. Kensington?”

 

“It does, yes, sir.” 

 

“And would you agree, Mr. Kensington, that engaging in an intimate relationship with another employee might be considered an example of such?”

 

“I couldn’t say, sir, not without specifics,” Ben said carefully. A game of cat and mouse, and he was the mouse. But he’d protect Quinn, no matter what. He needed to know how much the Dean actually knew, or if he was just fishing for information. Quinn, help me, he thought desperately. 

 

“I see.” Winters regarded him for another long moment, then slid the paper across the desk to him. “Perhaps this will clarify the situation for you.” 

 

Ben carefully picked up the letter by its edges. The unsigned note stated that he had been engaged in an intimate relationship of unknown duration with unnamed Academy personnel, and called for his immediate termination on grounds of moral turpitude. Otherwise, the author would go public with the information. Hands trembling, he laid the note back down on the desk, and slowly raised his eyes to the Dean’s.

 

“Who sent it?” he asked faintly.

 

“That is not important,” the Dean answered. “Is it true?”

 

Ben nodded. “It is.” Does he know it’s Quinn?

 

“And how long has this… affair… been going on?”

 

“Less than a year, sir,” Ben answered truthfully. “But, with all due respect, I’m not sure that it’s really anyone’s business but our own.” He hardly believed his own bravado, even though he and Quinn had discussed the matter frequently and agreed on that point. “It’s a private matter, between two consenting adults, and strictly off campus.” 

 

Something flickered in the brown-gold eyes. Ben’s job was clearly in jeopardy, but damned if he’d take Quinn down with him.

 

Winters studied him, and Ben forced himself to return the gaze without rancor. The Dean put the note back in the envelope, then sat back in his chair.

 

“Mr. Kensington,” he said slowly, his words measured, “it would be best for all involved – yourself included – that any such relationship, real or imagined, cease immediately. I will not see this school’s reputation tarnished by the ill-considered actions of any of its employees. If you wish to continue working here, you will speedily take whatever measures are necessary to comply. Are we clear?”

 

Ben sat silently, as his world crumbled around his feet. How could the sun still be shining outside? Quinn’s blue eyes and warm smile swam before him, and he struggled for calm. “I understand, sir,” he said quietly. “I can assure you, neither of us has any desire to compromise the integrity of the school, its personnel or its students-”

 

The Dean interrupted him. “It seems you already have, Mr. Kensington, which is why you are here today.” He paused. “Is the author of this note the one with whom you have been engaged? A jilted lover, perhaps?”

 

“No, sir,” Ben said firmly. He had no idea who had sent the letter, but obviously it wasn’t Quinn. And Adele was their staunchest ally. What a cruel joke. Everyone smiled and looked the other way at Quinn’s and Adele’s supposed affair. And Ben suspected there were a few other “relationships” going on behind closed doors. Very discreetly, of course.

 

So he, Ben, must be the intended target. Who had it in for him badly enough to send that kind of a threat? 

 

The answer came back all too quickly, and he prayed he was wrong. 

 

~tbc~


	3. Lightning stabs the darkness…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fairly short chapter, but there'll be longer ones soon. Stay tuned.

~*~*~*~

 

Mark opened the door. “Quinn,” he said, “come on in. Thanks for coming over.”

 

“Cheers, Mark.” Quinn stepped into the marble-tiled foyer and shed his dripping slicker. “Damnable night out. Pretty sure I spotted an ark and some animals on the way over.” He shook his head and water droplets flew in all directions. 

 

Mark smiled at his colleague’s grumblings. “Let’s go in the living room and have a drink.” He gestured to his guest to precede him. Quinn took a seat close to the fire and gratefully accepted the glass Mark handed him. Winters sat on the couch opposite and raised his own in an informal toast.

 

“Slainte,” Quinn responded, then took a comfortable swallow. “Ah, nectar of the gods, that is.”

 

“You should know. It’s the Jameson’s you brought me from Ireland on your last trip over.”

 

Quinn grinned. “Protectin’ me own interests, yeah?” He sipped again, then placed the glass on the end table. “All right, so tell me why you made me swim over here tonight. What’s got your knickers in a knot?”

 

Mark sobered. “I need your advice. Friend to friend, not just Dean to department chairman.”

 

“Mmm,” Quinn mused. “Sounds serious.”

 

Mark’s brown eyes glinted golden in the light of the fire. “It is. And of a rather sensitive nature. I didn’t want to discuss it in the office. You can understand.”

 

“I’m here, mate,” Quinn said simply. 

 

Mark handed him a folded sheet of paper. “I received this a few days ago. There was no return address, but it was postmarked from Boston.”

 

Quinn read it, then shrugged. “Somebody’s got way too much time on their hands, I’m thinkin’.” He handed it back. “Bunch of bloody agitators.” He kept his face and voice carefully neutral, while mentally consigning the nameless author to the deepest levels of Hell. 

 

“I wish it was. But apparently it’s on the level. Kensington confirmed it.”

 

Ben knew about it? And hadn’t mentioned it? Of course, ye bloody amadan, he’d rather take it on the chin than incriminate you. What’d you expect? Not this time, bucko. No turtle games. We’re in this together. “What did he say?” Quinn asked casually. 

 

“He refused to name the other party.” Mark sighed. “I can’t fault him for his loyalty, however misguided. But obviously this has to be dealt with, and quickly.” He looked up at Quinn. “Any ideas?”

 

“You mean, as to the identity of the other individual?” 

 

Mark nodded. 

 

“Certainly. It’s me.”

 

~tbc~


	4. And the thunder rolls...

~*~*~*~

Chapter 4: And the thunder rolls…

 

“*YOU*?” Winters’ jaw dropped. 

 

Quinn sipped his whiskey, a faintly mocking smile on his bearded lips. 

 

“Quinn, what the hell were you *thinking*!” Damn the man, so smug, so secure in his tenured contract. If he wasn’t such a good teacher and such a favorite among the students… “I asked you over here for help, when you’re part of the problem!”

 

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Mark,” Quinn retorted. “What’s all the fuss about? It’s not as though we aren’t both of us consenting adults. At least neither of us is sleeping with a student.” 

 

“I don’t *believe* it,” Mark sputtered. “No, you’re right, you’re both adults, and neither of you is a student, but the fact remains, he is a *man*! And so are *you*!” Dear God, you’re all but engaged to Adele, while sleeping with another *man*?” I ought to beat the crap out of you, just for doing that to her! “It’s… it’s *indecent*! It’s unnatural!” 

 

“Indecent to whom?” Quinn asked. “This is the twenty-first century, *Dean* Winters; it’s hardly unheard of, and hasn’t been a big deal for several years now. In fact, I believe the U.S. Supreme Court recently declared same-sex *marriage* legal in every state. We aren’t trying to influence anyone’s lives or lifestyles, merely enjoying our God-given right to exercise our own life choices. You could even argue it’s a freedom of expression, which I believe is guaranteed in your Constitution.” 

 

He paused to take another sip of whiskey. “And as for it being ‘unnatural,’ why, I can show you countless examples in the animal world where same-gender behavior is not only ‘natural,’ but prevalent. Hmm,” he mused, studying the ornate scrollwork on the ceiling, “it would make an interesting series of articles at that. I haven’t published in a few years, have I? And of course the Academy would get *full* credit.”

 

Mark groaned. “You wouldn’t dare.” He glared at Quinn, who merely cocked an eyebrow in response. Yes, you would, damn your hide, for the sheer pleasure of watching the sky fall around us all. He tried to rein in his temper, but Quinn seemed bent on throwing gasoline on the fire. 

 

“Think of it, Mark! The research, the field trips to observe the subjects in their native wilds. What a singular opportunity!” Mark glared and Quinn finally shrugged. “Oh, all right. But it *would* be a very interesting commentary, you have to admit.” 

 

Mark couldn’t contain himself. “Quinntrell Joseph Donovan, have you contracted cirrhosis of the brain from all that Irish whiskey? ‘Interesting commentary,’ my ass! It would cause a scandal the likes of which this school has never seen. Damn it, this is *serious*! We don’t need that kind of publicity! Attendance would plummet; we’d probably lose our funding. The Board of Governors might close us down! Is *that* what you want? Is Kensington worth all of that?”

 

“He is to me,” Quinn replied firmly. He sauntered to the bar to freshen his drink, then casually leaned against the fireplace mantel, a few feet from where Mark was sitting. 

 

Mark fought the urge to smash something. Too bad the poker was out of reach. And shit, now he’d gone and unsuspectedly allowed Quinn to quite literally take the “high ground,” one of his favorite stratagems. Mark could either stand (and still be shorter than Quinn’s six-foot-four) or resign himself to craning his neck. Frustrated, he gritted his teeth and prayed for patience. 

 

“Quinn, we’ve known each other for a long time.” 

 

Quinn nodded. “Aye, we have,” he said, with the warm smile that made him indispensable at Academy fundraisers. Donations flowed like water when Quinn Donovan was one of the guest speakers. 

 

“A *long* time,” Mark repeated, for emphasis. “But I have to look at this not as your friend, but as the Academy’s Dean of Students. I have an obligation to the students, *and* to their families. In loco parentis, remember? These kids are our responsibility. You and the rest of the faculty are *my* responsibility. And for you and Kensington to be carrying on in this manner, setting an example for impressionable young minds-”

 

“Hold it,” Quinn interrupted, setting his glass firmly down on the mantel. “Ben and I are *not* ‘carrying on.’ But even if we were, what we elect to do off campus, in private, is no one’s concern but our own. I’m sorry you don’t approve, but to be honest, it doesn’t really bother me. We care deeply for each other, and that is *our* business. Not yours, nor that of the student body, their families, the Board of Governors, or anyone else.” His gaze was steady, unblinking, and finally it was Winters who had to look away. 

 

Quinn continued, his tone deceptively mild. “I am completely in accord with keeping it out of our respective duties on campus. But I will not allow anyone to tell me – *or him* – that we cannot be together, on whatever terms to which we mutually agree, when and if and how often we see fit.” He leaned forward, almost silhouetted in the firelight. “And for the record: should *any* form of retaliation be taken against Ben Kensington, I will personally see to it that legal action is brought against the Academy on his behalf. He will not be made a scapegoat, simply because he is an easier target.” An oblique reference to Quinn’s own tenured contract. 

 

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat, Professor Donovan?” Be careful, Quinn, don’t go burning bridges…

 

Quinn lolled against the mantel with a wolfish smile. “Why, of course not, *Dean Winters*, what would give you that idea? I am merely enumerating our options, and yours. I see no need for coercion, provided both sides remain civil.” 

 

Damn the man, Mark thought bitterly. He’d bring the whole school down around our ears, just for the sake of Ben Kensington? Doesn’t he realize that little ‘moral turpitude’ clause could get *him* fired, too? He tried a different tack, hoping to get to the real reason Quinn was being so stubborn. 

 

“Quinn, look, you know you can confide in me. Has Kensington got something on you? Is he… is he blackmailing you somehow? You’re safe here; it won’t go out of this room, I promise. Talk to me.” 

 

There was a torrent of English and Irish profanity. Under other circumstances, it might have been comical. The man had an impressive vocabulary. “Mark, there is absolutely *no* blackmail going on, on either side. Shite, man! Why is it so feckin’ hard for you to understand that Ben and I have genuine *feelings* for one another? He’s handsome, has a brilliant and inquiring mind, a grand sense of humor-”

 

“Spare me.” Winters tried to quell the nausea he felt at the thought. 

 

“Gladly. As long as *you* agree to spare *him*.” 

 

The two men measured each other in the firelight. The storm outside eerily mirrored the conflict within. Quinn sighed. 

 

“Mark, neither Ben nor I have any desire to make an issue out of this, for the school or anyone else. But we will *not* stop seeing each other, simply to appease some meddling busybody’s wounded and outmoded sense of ‘propriety.’” He paused, then added softly, “I would have expected you, of all people, to be a bit more understanding. I seem to recall quite an uproar a few years back when the Academy named an African-American as its new Dean of Students. Never mind that said African-American was eminently more qualified than any other applicant. But we weathered that one all right.” He extended his hand. “Well?” he prompted gently.

 

Mark Winters gazed up at the stranger before him, trying to find the Quinn Donovan he knew. The deep-set blue eyes pleaded with him to understand, to accept, but also refused to retreat. He exhaled, then slowly reached out and grasped the proffered hand. An uncomfortable silence followed, as each struggled to bridge the schism of their years-long friendship. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Quinn, you can’t *do* that!” Ben stared at his lover, aghast.

 

“Why not?” Maddeningly calm.

 

“Because- because you just *can’t*! Not because of me.”

 

“Ben, I *love* you. And I’m not about to let them kick you to the curb. They’ll try to use you as a wedge. They’re wrong, and I intend to let them know just exactly *how* wrong they are. I have more than enough years to retire, and if that’s how this school plans to treat its staff, I’m more than ready to say goodbye and good riddance.”

 

“But-”

 

Quinn held up a hand. “Enough. I’ve made up my mind.” He smiled grimly. “Save your breath.” 

 

Ben swallowed hard, still trying to wrap his head around the situation. Quit? No, “retire,” he’d said. Well, he had been with the Academy for more than 25 years, but Quinn loved his job, loved the students, the faculty. He’d said so more times than Ben cared to think about. And to just up and throw everything away because of *him*? Sure, he probably could afford financially to walk away from even his lucrative contract, but that wasn’t the point. How long would it be before he started resenting Ben for it? Would they even remain together? Quinn was a sucker for hard-luck cases, but Ben wasn’t about to become one of his little projects. And this was starting to sound dangerously close to that. 

 

Reluctantly, Ben forced himself to consider whether the danger, the need for secrecy, the sneaking around corners had been the spice that had made their connection so exciting. The sense of “forbidden fruit.” He took a deep breath. 

 

“Quinn, let’s talk about this. Hear me out. Don’t do something you’re going to regret. It won’t do either of us any good, and we’d end up hating each other because of it. Sit down.” He pushed the big man back into his easy chair. He had to work fast, while he had Quinn’s attention. Amazingly, he’d been ceded the stronger negotiating position, for once. Quite literally, the ‘higher ground,’ Quinn always called it, usually with a self-satisfied smirk. 

 

“Listen to me,” he began earnestly, “You *need* this job, Quinn. Not just the money, the *job*. The focus. The life. It’s what you are. You’re a teacher, an academic, and you’re good at it. If you walked away, you’d… *wither*. Like one of your tomato plants when you forget to water it.” He ran his hand distractedly through his hair, reaching for the right words. “You love me. I *know* that. I love *you*, with every breath in my body. And it’s *because* I love you that I can’t let you do this. *I’m* expendable. Let me find another job, where it won’t make a difference that we’re together. It’ll be okay. *We’ll* be okay. Just promise me you won’t quit.”

 

Quinn shook his head. “Ben, you are *not* expendable. Not to the school, and certainly not to me. Yes, of course you could find another position, though you needn’t. I can support both of us.” Ben’s eyes flashed a warning, but Quinn waved him off. “Damn it, I’m not talkin’ about ‘keepin’ ya, ye wee eejit. Get off yer feckin’ high horse for one bloody minute.” 

 

Ben’s radar was pinging. Quinn rarely used profanity, unless he was really pissed off. And the lapse into his native brogue was a warning sign. But he couldn’t back down, not this time. Too much depended on it. Quinn had to be made to see reason, before it was too late. Arms crossed defiantly, he stared down the older man. 

 

Quinn blinked and visibly struggled for calm. “Ben, I’m talking about giving you the opportunity to expand yourself, get an advanced degree, travel,” he said softly. “Wouldn’t you like to take some time off, let me show you some of my favorite cities, educate you on the finer points of Renaissance art? The best restaurants in London, Florence, Geneva? Hell’s bells, Ben, I’m sure there’s something out there that would appeal even to your ‘modern’ tastes!” 

 

Before Ben could answer, his voice abruptly hardened again. “And what makes you think I’d stay if they terminated you? How could I? Maybe they can’t *fire* me, but nothing says I can’t walk away. And as far as my so-called love of teaching, I could take up private tutoring, or even accept a Professor Emeritus position somewhere. Frankly, I’m rather looking forward to the possibilities.”

 

Ben exhaled. It was like talking to a brick wall. Worse, even. “Let’s just wait and see what happens, okay?” he said quietly. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He shrugged, hating the hypocrisy that rose in his throat like bile. “Maybe it’ll all blow over, after Graduation Week.” 

 

But even as he felt Quinn’s strong arms close around him, Ben knew the storm was only beginning. And he’d move Heaven and earth to prevent Quinn going down. Whether he liked it or not.

 

~tbc~


	5. The heavens open...

~*~*~*~

 

Deborah Billingsley met Quinn at the door. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Professor.”

 

Quinn nodded. “What’s happened, lass?”

 

“Come in, Professor Donovan,” the Dean called from his office. “Deborah, hold my calls.”

 

“Yes sir,” Deb said nervously. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Winters motioned Quinn to the chair in front of his desk. He looked very grave. 

 

Quinn sat, his stomach muscles tightening. “All right, Mark,” he said, with a calm he was far from feeling. “What have I done this time?”

 

Mark handed him a sheaf of papers. “See for yourself.”

 

Quinn read the first page, then looked up in disbelief. “Is she feckin’ serious?”

 

“You tell me,” Mark countered.

 

The letter was from a prominent Boston law firm. It alleged that Quinntrell J. Donovan, Ph.D. had conspired to sabotage Xandra Criton’s senior year, and was now prohibiting her from graduating, thereby causing her great physical and emotional distress and jeopardizing her future loss of earnings. Further, under the doctrine of respondeat superior, the Academy was strictly liable for the actions of its faculty. The Critons demanded reimbursement of Xandra’s full tuition, plus punitive damages, attorney’s fees and costs, and interest dating from the beginning of her freshman year. Failure to comply before close of business on Friday, Graduation Eve, would result in the filing of the attached lawsuit. 

 

Quinn shook his head. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “The girl failed a required course in her major, making her ineligible to graduate. I told her she could attend summer school. She declined. End of story.” 

 

“Apparently somebody has a different interpretation,” Mark said dryly. “And the Board of Governors is calling for a full investigation.” He leaned forward across the desk. “I need to know what’s going on. Start talking.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

“*What*?” Ben exclaimed. “She thinks you flunked her because she refused to have sex with you?” He angrily waved the suit papers. “Either she’s delusional, or the bitch is lying through her capped teeth! She’s a friggin’ sociopath!”

 

Quinn nodded grimly. “You and I know it isn’t true, but apparently the Board isn’t convinced.”

 

“But you graded the exam days before the dinner, *and* told her she’d failed it. She even said that was why she came over that night.” Ben ground his teeth. “No one who knows you could seriously believe you’d stoop to such a thing.”

 

“The Board’s collective back is against the wall. The Critons are threatening not only to withdraw their funding, but to go to the papers. The school might never recover from the bad publicity.”

 

“You mean it might close down.”

 

Quinn nodded. “Which, among other things, would mean both of us could end up on the street.”

 

Ben shook his head. “The tramp cannot get away with this! You didn’t do anything wrong!” 

 

“Cool your jets, lad, before you have a stroke. She can’t prove a thing, and she’s only going to end up making herself look foolish.”

 

“You mean until the newspapers get a hold of it and twist things around so she comes out looking like the victim,” Ben said bitterly. “Poor little rich bitch.”

 

“Language,” Quinn said reprovingly.

 

“*Fuck* my language!” Ben fired back. “Aren’t you even the least bit worried? You *should* be!” He slammed down onto the sofa and threw the papers on the floor. Bernini yelped and scurried to the foyer for safety.

 

Quinn spoke reassuringly to the agitated animal, even as he bent to retrieve the documents.   
“On balance, I’d say you’re more than upset enough for the both of us,” he observed.

 

Ben stood, narrowly missing stepping on Quinn’s fingers. “I gotta get out of here before I fuckin’ hit something,” he muttered, slamming the garage door behind him.

 

~tbc~

 

 


	6. "Apres moi, le deluge..."

~*~*~*~

 

Ani Walker cautiously stuck his head in the door. “Ben? You got a minute?” 

 

Ben barely glanced up from scanning the server security logs. He was *going* to figure out how Xandra was getting into those test sites, damn it. Too many careers depended on it. “Ani, this really isn’t a good time-”

 

“It’s kinda important. Please?” 

 

Shit, Ben thought. Maybe he could use a break. He’d been in his office since before dawn, and his brain was running on caffeine and fumes. He sighed. “C’mon in, kid. What’s up?” 

 

Ani inched forward, scuffing his sneakers into the wooden floor. “I dunno what to do,” he whispered.

 

“About what?” 

 

“I… saw somethin’,” the boy mumbled, not looking up. “At least I- I think I did. And now I dunno if I should tell.” 

 

The boy looked as if he were marching to his own execution. Ben knew the feeling. “What is it you think you saw, Ani?” he asked patiently.

 

Ani took a deep breath. “It was that stuck-up Xandra Criton. She was in the library, back where they keep all the really *old* books, you know? I mean, *nobody* goes back there, ‘cept to smoke pot or mess around.” 

 

Ben covered his mouth to hide the smile tugging at his lips. The kid was twelve going on twenty-seven. “Go on.”

 

“I was looking for yearbooks, from when Professor D was goin’ here. I guess she didn’t know I was there. She had a laptop open on the desk, and she was taking pictures of test sites with her phone. And kinda giggling to herself, like she’d heard a really funny joke.” 

 

“When was this?” Ben asked, mind churning Holy shit. 

 

“The week before finals.” 

 

“Did you tell anyone?”

 

The boy shook his head miserably. “I didn’t want be a snitch. And I wasn’t *positive* it was test sites. I mean, it *looked* like ‘em, but how could... I wasn’t gonna say nothin’, ’cuz I wasn’t *sure*, you know?”

 

Ben nodded, watching the boy closely now. Obviously something had made the boy change his mind. 

 

Ani took a deep breath, then the words suddenly came tumbling out in a rush. “But then last Friday, I heard her tellin’ her one of her buds how she was gonna get Professor D fired. She was braggin’ that she’d told her folks that he- he came on to her, and that he flunked her ’cuz she wouldn’t let him… you know.” He raised his head, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I *couldn’t* not do anything then, right?”

 

Ben’s blood was boiling. That narcissistic bitch was going down. “Have you told Professor D?” he asked, forcing himself to remain calm and not alarm the kid.

 

Ani shook his head. “I didn’t know how. Maybe… maybe you could do it,” he said hopefully. “He really likes you.”

 

Ben smiled at the boy’s naïveté. “He likes you, too, Ani. But I think it needs to come from you, kiddo. I didn’t see or hear it.” He checked Quinn’s schedule on-line, then reached for the phone. “Professor Donovan? It’s Ben Kensington. Fine, thanks. Ani Walker’s here with me, and we’d like to come see you. It’s important. Yeah, now would be great. We’ll be right over.”

 

Ani swiped at his eyes again. “Thanks, Ben,” he said shyly. “He’s gotta believe it, coming from both of us, right?”

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Dean Winters, this is a catastrophe in the making. It has to be resolved, quickly and quietly. Is that understood?”

 

“Yes, sir, but with all due respect-”

 

“The Critons have been very generous to the Academy over the years. And they are very influential in certain circles. Allowances must be made. *Will* be made. Tell Quinn Donovan to get his head out of his self-righteous, pontificating ass and make this right. And that if he is not prepared to do so, we’ll be expecting his resignation. Make that very clear. We must choose our battles, and this is one we cannot hope to win.”

 

~tbc~


	7. Flood waters are rising...

~*~*~*~

 

After a great deal of breast-beating and rattling of sabers, the Critons grudgingly agreed to mediate their differences. 

 

It was a small, but sweet victory. Mark Winters, himself a licensed, albeit non-practicing attorney, invoked the subtle arbitration provision in the Admissions Agreement duly executed by every incoming freshman, and reaffirmed upon the beginning of each subsequent school year as a condition of continued enrollment. The meeting would take place in a neutral location, before a retired judge, and each side would submit a short position paper ahead of time. Mr. Criton would speak for his daughter. Mark would appear with Quinn on behalf of the Academy. All proceedings would remain confidential.

 

Following an excruciatingly polite meet-and-greet, the parties adjourned to their respective rooms, having agreed to forego opening statements in favor of moving directly into caucus. The mediator met first with the Critons. He then rejoined Mark and Quinn. 

 

“Mr. and Mrs. Criton and their daughter have a list of demands which I am obligated to present to you for consideration,” Judge Hartman began. “From your written statements, I realize that there are a number of issues in controversy, but I would ask that you keep an open mind.” 

 

He consulted his notes, then cleared his throat. “First, Ms. Criton is to graduate with the rest of her class. She is not to be subjected to humiliation and ridicule by not appearing in her cap and gown and receiving her diploma.” When no reply was forthcoming, he continued. “Second, Anthony Walker is to be expelled for slandering Ms. Criton’s reputation on campus.” 

 

Quinn made an inarticulate sound of incredulity, and Mark motioned to him to be silent. 

 

“Third, Benjamin Kensington, whom I understand to be a member of the school’s administrative staff, is to be terminated for failing to safeguard the school’s computer servers, thereby allowing them to be accessed without proper authorization.” 

 

“Is that all?” Quinn asked softly. “Perhaps she’d like my personal assistance with cleaning out her apartment? Scrubbing the toilets with my toothbrush? Or maybe a new designer wardrobe as a graduation gift?” 

 

“Stow it, Quinn,” Mark reproved. “My apologies, Your Honor. As you can see, this is a very sensitive subject.”

 

“No apologies necessary, Dean Winters. Emotions often run high in these situations. I’ve heard much worse, and with far less justification.” He eyed Quinn, who met his gaze without remorse. “I’ll give you gentlemen some time to discuss how you’d like to respond. I will be outside; just come and find me when you’re ready.” He gave a short bow and stepped away, quietly closing the door behind him.

 

As soon as he was gone, Quinn exploded. “Who the feck does she think she is? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, have they no concept of what the girl did? She went *looking* for those test sites, Mark, and only by the grace o’ God, got caught at it this time. She knew exactly what she was doing! She’d done it before! Hell, she *told* Ben last fall that she needed him to cover her tracks, and then clouted him on the head when he refused! And what did her parents do? Oh, dear me, they took her precious phone away for what, sixty seconds? Mark, you must call Child Protective Services this minute, and have them summarily arrested for child abuse. How could she possibly live without her feckin’ *cell phone*!”

 

“*Quinn*-”

 

“And of *course* she wants Ani expelled and Ben fired! Mustn’t leave any witnesses, after all. I’m surprised she hasn’t called for my head on a platter, a la John the Baptist. I guess her hoi polloi fancy lawyer father hasna got the balls to take *me* on. Instead, he singles out the weaker members of the herd, the ones that are totally innocent, with no one to back them up!” He cursed volubly in a combination of Irish and English that Mark could only hope was aimed at the people in the other room. 

 

Finally, the tirade wound down. Mark knew from experience to let it run its course without interruption, although he’d half-expected Security to come charging in, guns drawn. With any luck, the Judge had convinced them it was just “emotions running high.” At this rate, it’d be a miracle if they weren’t on the evening news. 

 

And to think the mediation had been suggested to avoid negative publicity for the school…

 

He walked over to the small refrigerator in the corner and pulled out a couple of cans of diet soda. Popping both open, he held one out. “Drink it, you fool, and calm down before someone breaks down the door and starts shooting.” His tone brooked no argument. “Try and remember how to act like a civilized human being, instead of one of your mad-dog Celtic ancestors.”

 

Quinn glared, but wisely didn’t respond. He slumped into his chair, sloshing soda onto the polished table surface. Mark silently pointed to a stack of napkins on top of the refrigerator. 

 

It was going to be a long day.

 

~*~*~*~

 

After nearly thirty minutes of private discussion, Mark asked the mediator to return. Thankfully, Judge Hartman made no comment about Quinn’s earlier outburst, but the secretary behind the desk nodded meaningfully in the direction of a uniformed officer standing a few feet away. The message was clear: Watch yourselves in there.

 

Quinn stood respectfully when the judge entered, but didn’t speak. Mark took a deep breath. “We’ve discussed the Critons’ proposal, Your Honor, and are encouraged that they’re not being completely unreasonable.” He ignored the derisive snort from the man beside him. “We do, however, have concerns with some of the requests.” 

 

“I’d have hardly expected anything less,” Judge Hartman replied, motioning for them to be seated. “How can I help?”

 

Quinn leaned forward. “The bit about young Walker being expelled. *Not* going to happen,” he sat flatly. “The lad did nothing wrong, and he won’t be punished for Xandra Criton’s actions. He’s worked his arse – excuse me, he has worked very hard -- against nearly insurmountable odds. Why should *he* be victimized because another student chose to try to beat the system?”

 

Judge Hartman nodded imperturbably. “Dean Winters?”

 

“Anthony Walker is at the Academy under special accommodation, years ahead of his time,” Mark answered slowly. “Dr. Donovan campaigned hard to get him accepted into our program last summer. He has a bit of a vested interest in the boy. And until recently, I have had no reason to disagree with him.” He leaned back in his chair. “I agree: Anthony Walker should not – *will* not -- be expelled over Xandra Criton’s misconduct. He did what any student is required to do when he or she has knowledge of another student’s wrongdoing.”

 

“Cheers, Mark,” Quinn said softly.

 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Mark replied sourly. 

 

The judge made a notation on his pad. “Very well. The request for Master Walker’s expulsion is denied. What’s next?”

 

Before Quinn could open his mouth, Mark spoke again. “Why are they asking for Mr. Kensington’s termination?”

 

The judge glanced at his notes. “As I understand it, he is responsible for maintaining the computer security on campus. As such, he has an obligation to protect the sensitive information contained on the servers.”

 

“So?” asked Quinn. 

 

Judge Hartman spoke deliberately, as if from the bench. “He allegedly had the ability to alter grades after they were uploaded.”

 

“That’s total *gobshite*!” cried Quinn, and Mark quickly intervened. 

 

“Judge, that is absolutely not true,” he said firmly. “Mr. Kensington does not have – has *never* had -- that capability. Only the faculty can access that section of the computers. He could not possibly have changed anyone’s grades, even if he’d wanted to.”

 

There was a tense silence. “What about you, Dr. Donovan? You posted the grades after the final exams?” Quinn nodded tersely. “I am not suggesting, sir, that you purposely changed her grade in any way, but Ms. Criton…” Judge Hartman trailed off. 

 

“Says I did,” Quinn finished. “Judge, I told her the Monday morning after the exams were graded that she had not passed the final, and as such, was ineligible to graduate. Two days *before* the grades were posted the grades on Wednesday.” He reached into his battered briefcase and pulled out the printed answer sheet, replete with red slash marks. “I manually checked and *rechecked* her answers myself, and there was no mistake. She *flunked* it, all on her own.” He shrugged. “What possible reason could I have for deliberately preventing one of my own seniors from graduating?”

 

“Excellent question, and I asked them that.” Hartman paused, as if searching for words. “It was implied that it might have been for… personal reasons.”

 

“Oh, my God,” Quinn breathed. “The wee eejit…” He closed his eyes.

 

“Quinn?” Mark asked concernedly. He turned to the mediator. “Judge, I think we need a minute. Would you mind…”

 

Hartman rose. “Of course. I’ll be outside.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

As soon as the door closed, Quinn began to pace. Mark had never seen him so agitated. “Quinn, talk to me. What’s this about?”

 

Quinn leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He breathed deeply, clearly struggling to control his emotions. Mark watched anxiously, trying to imagine what could have set him off. As if things weren’t bad enough already.

 

The words came slowly, dredged up from a bottomless well of pain. “She… she tried… oh, shite, Mark, I never wanted any of this to see the light o’ day.”

 

“Tell me,” Mark said, motioning to the chair. Quinn sat, suddenly looking twenty years older. “Whatever it is, old friend, let me help.”

 

Quinn nodded. He spoke so low Mark had to strain to hear. “She’s been… cozying up to me since freshman year. Flirting, making a bloody nuisance of herself. I’m probably not the only one, but…” He stared into space, blue eyes haunted. “I overlooked it most of the time, but when she’d get out of hand, I’d put her in her place right smart.” 

 

“Go on.”

 

“This past year, she didn’t seem to care whether she did the work or not. Her lab partner all but dragged her arse through the first half of the AB course. ’Course, we know now she was hacking the test sites, but…” He shook his head. “I knew she was struggling with ABII. Everyone does. She’d come around periodically, asking for ‘private tutoring’ – he held up two fingers on each hand in air quotes – which, of course, I refused, and told her to do some additional research. Didn’t sit too well.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “God forbid she should actually *study*, yeah?”

 

“What happened?” Mark asked quietly, already dreading the answer.

 

Quinn shrugged. “She failed the final, you already know that. But, Mark, even if she’d gotten into the test site, it wouldn’t have done her any good. I *redid* the ABII final a couple of days before.” He smiled mirthlessly. “Wasn’t the midterm mostly essay questions? Wasn’t it designed to make ’em really think about all they’d learned in four years? But the class was bigger than usual this time, and weren’t there some first-rate bullshitters in the group? And wasn’t it a feckin’ nightmare grading them?” He smiled grimly. “So I decided to make the final all true/false and multiple choice, and let the damned computer grade ’em. About time, yeah? Wasn’t the rest of the school doing it for years? Good ole Professor Fossil, finally catching up with the times. I did leave in a couple of essays for extra credit.” He leaned forward. “But, Mark, the test was never *on* the system. There wasn’t any time. Didn’t I give it as a paper test that morning? Then didn’t Jim upload the answer key the next day, so the computer could do its thing?”

 

“Quinn, you son of a bitch,” Mark breathed. The unconscious lapse into the Irish manner of answering questions with questions was a clear sign of the biology chairman’s unrest. Fortunately, he didn’t do it very often. And given the situation, it could be overlooked.

 

“Ye’d best be leavin’ me sainted mother out o’ this, bucko, if ye know what’s good for ye,” Quinn retorted, with a tired grin. “So, see, even assuming she’d found the old test, it wouldn’t have helped her. She couldn’t just gloss over it with a bunch of BS, like on the midterm. Didn’t she have to *know* the material? ’Course she did.”

 

Mark nodded. “What else?” Clearly, this was not what had set Quinn off moments earlier.

 

“I told her Monday morning she couldn’t graduate without ABII, but that she could retake the course in summer school. She declined. Surprise, surprise. I doubt anyone’s told her ‘no’ much in her entire life. And didn’t she turn on the waterworks, right on schedule? And when that didn’t do any good, didn’t she try to… ‘persuade’ me? And weren’t some of the enticements extremely… personal?” Blue eyes met brown in educators’ shared understanding. “Naturally, I declined.”

 

“Naturally.” Quinn had far too much personal and professional integrity to do otherwise. The man had been teaching longer than Xandra Criton had been alive.

 

The words came with difficulty. “What I hadn’t told you before was that she showed up for the graduation dinner, uninvited and unannounced, and dared me to call her on it. Against my better judgment, I allowed her to stay. Discretion being the better part of valor.” He grimaced. “Didn’t it seem harmless enough at the time?”

 

“And?” Mark prompted.

 

Quinn rose and walked to the window again. “She snuck up to me bedroom, and… ambushed me after everyone was gone.” He leaned his hands on the sill, shoulders slumping. 

 

“Holy shit,” Winters breathed. “Did she- did you-”

 

“O’ *course* not!” Quinn said angrily. “What’d ye take me fer, a feckin’ fool?” His brogue was so thick Mark could barely understand him. “Didn’t I throw the connivin’ little bitch out on her candy-coated arse? Told her either she’d be leavin’ me home right straight or wouldn’t I’d be callin’ the Garda to haul her out in handcuffs!” 

 

“*Good*!” Mark said. “I always said you were asking for trouble, bringing those kids over to your house.”

 

“Unlike yerself, havin’ all them fancy Halloween parties and such at Sydney Hall. At least my kids hae a designated driver.” 

 

Mark grimaced. “Touché.” 

 

“I never thought she’d be stupid enough to actually *tell* anyone. I swear before God, Mark, I never laid a hand on her. Not that a good wallopin’ wi’ me belt wouldna done ‘er any harm.”

 

“Thank goodness you didn’t,” Mark muttered. A thought struck him. “Does Adele know?”

 

Quinn nodded. “I called her that night, pretendin’ she was the police. She heard me tell Xandra to get out.” 

 

“That was smart. You’re lucky you have her to give you an alibi,” Mark commented. “But I don’t want to see her dragged into this.”

 

“Nor I,” Quinn agreed fervently. “I wasn’t goin’ to mention it to anyone. I figured we’d heard the end of it.” 

 

Mark sighed. “Anything else?” In hindsight, Xandra Criton trying to seduce Quinn didn’t seem all that farfetched, but a little voice in the back of his head said he still didn’t have the whole picture. 

 

Quinn’s jaw clenched under his beard as he stared out the window. 

 

“Quinn, tell me. We don’t want to get blindsided again.”

 

“The letter,” Quinn whispered, reflexively crossing himself. “I think it came from her.”

 

Mark frowned. “How would she-” Comprehension dawned. “Was Kensington there that night?”

 

“Not during the dinner. But later...” Quinn sat down, hands clasped between his knees, head bowed. “I texted him to stay away before Xandra came downstairs. He arrived shortly after she left. I couldn’t turn him away; I- I’m not ashamed to say I *needed* his support about then. I was pretty twisted up.”

 

“You think she saw him?”

 

Quinn nodded. “Maybe. He came in through the garage, but if she was still outside… Hasn’t he been on her… her ‘excremental roster’ for ages?”

 

Mark gave a grim chuckle. “Oh, hell, go ahead and say it. Her ‘shit list.’ And you’re right, it *does* sound likely. Kill two birds with one stone.” He covered Quinn’s hands with his own. “I’m sorry, my friend. Truly, I am.”

 

“For what?” Quinn asked tiredly. “Not *your* fault. I should have suspected something. Didn’t she give in far too easily at that interview?”

 

“No. For beating you over the head about… the other. You had enough on your plate; I just didn’t know the half of it. I’m not saying I *agree* with it, mind you, but…”

 

Quinn smiled. “Point taken. But thanks, anyway. I think I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve heard you apologize for anything. Makes me feel like havin’ a party.”

 

“Hold that thought,” Mark said, with a weak smile. If we get out of this one, we’ll celebrate together. Your pub, my treat.”

 

“Deal.”

 

~tbc~


	8. Anyone see a rowboat...

~*~*~*~

 

When the mediator returned, Mark gave him a highly sanitized account of Xandra’s efforts to persuade Quinn to change her grade. Judge Hartman didn’t seem surprised, and both men privately wondered how much he might have overheard. Or had figured out for himself.

 

“So, is it my understanding, Dr. Donovan, that you did not in any way modify Ms. Criton’s grades, or condone anyone else doing so?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Quinn said firmly. “Nor would I, for her or any other student. She failed the exam -- *and* the course -- on her own, Judge; she didn’t need any help from me.”

 

“Thank you,” the judge said solemnly. “But you would be open to the idea of her retaking the course and, upon receiving a passing grade, removing the failing mark from her transcript?”

 

Quinn nodded slowly. “More than passing, Judge. She’d have to achieve at least a ‘B’ in order to complete her academic requirements in her major. She barely got through the first half.” He smiled wryly. “An ‘A’ would be better, but I won’t expect miracles.”

 

Mark leaned forward. “There’s still the matter of her having cheated on one or more of her exams, Judge. *And* lying about it, as well as impugning Dr. Donovan’s personal and professional reputation. Those are honor violations, any or all of which by all rights should result in her automatic expulsion.” His voice was calm, but his eyes were hard as flint. 

 

“I empathize with your position, Dean Winters,” the mediator said. “But for the sake of resolution, can we set that aside for a moment? Assuming, of course, that everything else can be worked out?”

 

Mark glanced over at Quinn, who gave a noncommittal shrug. “We’ll take it under advisement, Judge,” he said carefully.

 

Judge Hartman nodded. “Very well. Let me talk to the Critons again, and I’ll be back. Thank you, gentlemen.” He left, quietly closing the door after him.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“What do you think?” Mark asked, once the door was closed. 

 

Quinn exhaled. “I probably should have turned her in to the Honor Court. But she didn’t *actually* cheat, since she never saw the real ABII exam, did she? And then she flunked it anyway, making her ineligible to graduate.” He shrugged. “Let the punishment fit the crime.”

 

“And the lying? The slander?”

 

“Isn’t it her word against mine?” He grimaced. “I do *not* want Adele involved. She’s not to have a target painted on her back because of me. If we can put the rest to bed – no pun intended – then I say let it go.” He leaned forward again. “And by ‘the rest,’ I mean Ani, Ben, *all* of it. Or there’s no deal.”

 

Mark nodded. Quinn’s position made sense. And all things considered, he was showing remarkable compassion toward a student who’d not only been a thorn in his side for four long years, but had slandered him for her own personal gains. Not to mention callously exposing his private life. That was still a hard pill to swallow. “We’ll take the high road,” he agreed heavily, “provided they’re willing to be reasonable on the rest.” He sipped his drink. “They haven’t mentioned the tuition and the monetary damages.”

 

“That was just a shot across the bow. They don’t want the Academy’s money, Mark. Just the satisfaction of coming out on top, and forcing us to ‘sue for peace,’ so to speak. The Board predictably goes ballistic, then caves to avoid the negative publicity.” Quinn grinned maliciously. “And aren’t I thinkin’ they’re going to be just a wee bit disappointed?”

 

Mark shook his head. He’d spent more time than he cared to remember making excuses for Xandra Criton’s over-the-top behavior because of her parents’ generous endowments to the school. The mediation, and the events leading up to it, had been something of an epiphany for him, and he owed it to those under his care to make sure that for once the uber-entitled young lady was made to answer for her misdeeds. 

 

There was a knock at the door, and the mediator entered. “I’d like to say we’re making progress, gentlemen, but I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up quite yet.” He opened his notebook. “I’m afraid they’re standing firm on Ms. Criton graduating with her class. She cannot be left out of such a landmark moment in her life.” 

 

Quinn gave an incredulous snort. “*That’s* what she’s worried about? When she could be facing expulsion for lying, cheating *and* stealing? Oh, but then I guess Daddy would just buy her a degree from somewhere else.” 

 

Mark smothered a grin. Master Negotiator Donovan had joined the party. Praying he was reading the signals right, he decided to play along. “Can’t you let her take a make-up exam?” he pleaded. “A whole new test, even stipulate she has to get at least a ‘B’ on it?”

 

Quinn shook his head. “She’d have to practically *ace* it to get a passing grade on the course. This whole semester has been naught but a joke to her. And besides,” he added facetiously, “who’s to say I could be trusted not to make the new exam so hard that she couldn’t possibly pass it, just for spite?” He gave a bitter chuckle at the shocked looks on both men’s faces. “Ah, never be tellin’ me she wouldn’t try it! No, the only solution is for her to redo the course in summer school with Professor Addison, and make high marks on the mid-term *and* the final. Although,” he said slowly, “now that I think of it, there is another option. She could always come back next spring, retake the course with me, and if she passes it the second time around, she can graduate with *next* year’s class.” 

 

Mark hurriedly picked up his soda, to prevent himself laughing out loud. Without batting an eye, Quinn had presented an entirely logical alternative which would never be accepted, but that the mediator would still have to relay to the other side. Xandra had already refused to consider summer school because she was supposedly leaving the day after graduation for Europe. Quinn was offering her the means to have her cake and eat it, too. Now really, how much more accommodating could they be? 

.  
“Thank you for that suggestion, Dr. Donovan,” Judge Hartman said dryly. “However, under the circumstances, I suspect Ms. Criton would prefer to matriculate sooner rather than later.” Mark detected a faint twinkle in his eye, an appreciation for the subtlety of the parry. Somehow, he doubted much had gotten past this one when he was on the bench.

 

Quinn shrugged. “Summer school with a ‘B’ or better in ABII -- *without* cheating, of course. I’ll waive the two term papers and accept the ones she turned in before. Best I can do.” He sat back and crossed his arms, with an air of finality. 

 

Mark wanted to stand up and cheer. Quinn should have gone into law instead of biology. The balls on this guy…

 

The judge meditatively tapped his pen on his legal pad. “Your position is not entirely unreasonable, Dr. Donovan, but I wonder if we might take it a step further?” At Quinn’s noncommittal nod, Hartman went on. “What if she were allowed to take part in the graduation ceremony with her peers, but with an *unsigned* diploma? They’re sealed, so no one else need know hers wasn’t official. Then, as you say, she can attend summer school, and if she meets all the requirements, it could be updated.” 

 

Mark seized on the elegant simplicity of the solution. “Quinn, think about it. It’s a win-win situation. She gets her day in the sun with everyone else, but it’s a hollow victory. She still has to make up the course in summer school. And you won’t be teaching it; Carrie Addison will. You know you can trust her to do the right thing.”

 

There was a long pause, then Quinn reluctantly nodded. “I’ll agree to that. If Carrie does.” He looked at the judge. “You wouldna be of Irish descent now, would ya?” he asked.

 

The mediator smiled. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Because naught but an Irishman could pull this off,” Quinn said cheekily. “You deserve a medal and a big bottle of Jameson’s if you do.”

 

As the judge rose to leave, Quinn spoke again. “I want it in writing that no action of any kind will be taken against Anthony Walker, or any other student in reprisal. In *writing*, Judge. Signed *and* notarized. Otherwise, there’s no deal.” Glancing at Mark for emphasis, he added, “And any action against Ben Kensington will be met with a lawsuit, no holds barred, and all prior agreements instantly null and void. Please make that very clear.”

 

Mark scowled. He’d hoped to avoid bringing Kensington into the negotiations. His and Quinn’s affair was an internal matter. Then again, the Critons *had* accused him of impropriety, even demanded his termination for allegedly changing Xandra’s grade because she’d refused his advances. Given what he knew now, it seemed laughable, but Mark didn’t want to think too much about his friend and colleague sleeping with another man.

 

Judge Hartman nodded, and put his hand on the doorknob. Then he turned, one corner of his mouth quirking upward. “It might interest you to know, Dr. Donovan, that my mother’s maiden name was Delaney.”

 

Quinn laughed appreciatively. “Ah, sure, and aren’t ye the verra one to be refereein’ this donnybrook then? And won’t I be sayin’ a wee prayer to St. Jude that ye’ll be haulin’ all them donkeys across the finish line?”

 

“Here’s hoping,” the judge agreed with a broad smile, closing the door behind him. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Mark leaned back in his chair. “Progress, of sorts.” He grinned tiredly at Quinn. “Offering to have her repeat her second semester and graduate with the rising seniors… God, that was beautiful. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he takes *that* to them. We’ll probably be able to hear the explosion in here.” He lightly punched Quinn’s arm where it lay on the table. “Glad you’re on our side, buddy.”

 

Quinn’s smile was slightly smug. “Just couldna resist poking the sleeping dragon. It’s me upbringin’, I suppose. Probably hae to be goin’ to confession for it.”

 

Mark sobered. “Did you *have* to bring Kensington into it?”

 

“Better to have it all on the table, Mark. If we don’t, they will.”

 

Mark stood and stretched. “What was that about donkeys?” he asked curiously.

 

Quinn chuckled. “A right stubborn bunch of jackasses, and no mistake. ‘Now Delaney had a donkey that everyone admired,’” he sang softly .

 

Mark shook his head. “You Irish have a story or a song about everything. But back to Kensington. What made you decide to take up with a man, after all these years? Suddenly you’re gay?”

 

Quinn looked thoughtful. “I don’t know quite how to explain it. Biologically speaking, I can tell you exactly *what* happens, *when* and what *causes* it to happen, in both males and females. *Physically*, that is. But never be askin’ me to explain the *why* of it. If I had that answer, I could retire today and make billions.” 

 

He gave his colleague a slow smile. “I only know that until I met Ben, something was missing in me life, and I couldn’t begin to tell you what it was. I was sure I had everything I ever needed, or wanted. But I was wrong, Mark, and glad to be sittin’ here admittin’ it to ye. Ben… *completes* me. There’s no other word for it.” 

 

“But what about Adele? She’s beautiful, intelligent, and crazy about you, God help her. You were the perfect couple. Everyone said so.”

 

“She is all of those things, aye, and much more. I love her dearly, and nothing will ever change that.” Quinn leaned forward. “But Mark, I’m findin’ there’s a huge difference between loving and being *in* love. Besides, it’s because of her meddling that Ben and I are together, and believe you me, she’s dyin’ to take the credit for it.” He punched Mark in the shoulder. “What are ye bitchin’ about, old man? With me out of the way, you can take your best shot, yeah? Hell, I’ll even put in a good word for you!” 

 

As Mark struggled to regain his composure, the mediator knocked and walked back into the room. 

 

“Gentlemen,” he said solemnly, “I believe we have an accord.”

 

~tbc~

 

DELANEY'S DONKEY  
(William Hargreaves)

 

Now Delaney had a donkey that everyone admired,  
Tempo'rily lazy and permanently tired.  
A leg at ev'ry corner, balancing his head,  
And a tail to let you know which end he wanted to be fed.  
Riley slyly said, "We've underrated it. Why not train it?"  
Then he took a rag.  
They rubbed it, scrubbed it,  
They oiled and embrocated it,  
Got it to the post,  
And when the starter dropped his flag,

 

There was Riley pushing it, shoving it, and shushing it,  
Hogan, Logan and ev'ryone in town  
Lined up attacking it, shoving it and smacking it.  
They might as well have tried to push the Town Hall down.  
The donkey was eyeing them,  
Openly defying them,  
Winking, blinking and twisting out of place.  
Riley reversing it,  
Ev'rybody cursing it,  
The day Delaney's donkey ran the half mile race.

 

The muscles of the mighty, never known to flinch,  
They couldn't budge the donkey a quarter of an inch.  
Delaney lay exhausted, hanging ‘round its throat,  
With a grip just like a Scotsman on a five-pound note.  
Starter Carter, he lined up with the rest of 'em.  
When it saw them, it was willing then.  
It raced up, braced up, ready for the best of 'em,  
They started off to cheer it, but it changed its mind again.

 

There was Riley pushing it, shoving it and shushing it,  
Hogan, Logan and Mary Ann Macgraw,  
She started poking it, grabbing it and choking it.  
It kicked her in the bustle and it laughed, "Hee Haw!"  
The Whigs and conservatives,  
Radical superlatives,  
Libr'rals and Tories,  
They hurried to the place.  
Stood there in unity,  
Helping the community,  
The day Delaney's donkey ran the half mile race.

 

The crowd began to cheer it. Then Rafferty, the judge,  
He came up to assist them, but still it wouldn't budge.  
The jockey who was riding it, little John MacGee,  
Was so thoroughly disgusted, he went home to have his tea.  
Hagan and Fagan, students of psychology,  
Swore they'd shift it with some dynamite.  
They bought it, brought it, and without apology,  
The donkey gave a sneeze and blew the whole thing out of sight.

 

There was Riley pushing it, shoving it and shushing it  
Hogan, Logan and all the bally crew,  
P'lice and Auxil'ary,  
The Garrison Artillery,  
The Second Enniskillen's and the Life Guards, too.  
They seized it and harried it,  
They picked it up and carried it,  
Cheered it, steered it to the winning place.  
Then the bookmakers, they drew aside,  
They all committed suicide.  
Well, the day Delaney's donkey won the half mile race.

 

 


	9. Behold, a ragged rainbow...

~*~*~*~

 

A cease-fire had officially been declared.

 

Xandra would be permitted to take part in the graduation ceremony with her class, but would receive an unsigned diploma. She could either retake ABII in summer school, or return to the Academy the following spring. No one was surprised when she resentfully chose the former. Upon receiving an overall ‘B’ or better, Quinn would certify her eligibility and her diploma would be updated.

 

Inspired by Quinn’s machinations (and more than a little relieved that no monetary damages would be awarded), Mark Winters “reluctantly” allowed himself to be persuaded to waive the honor violations, in return for signed and notarized affirmations that all claims against the school, students, faculty and/or staff would be dismissed with prejudice. Records would be expunged of any wrongdoing, and confidentiality agreements signed.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Criton and a truculent Xandra rejoined the judge, Mark and Quinn in the main conference room to sign the settlement documents. At her father’s insistence, Xandra limply shook Mark’s hand, but defiantly ignored Quinn. Mr. Criton stiffly thanked both men for their cooperation. They responded in kind. A tight-lipped Mrs. Criton said nothing.

 

Once the Critons took their leave, Judge Hartman sat down at the conference table, gesturing for Mark and Quinn to do the same. “My thanks to you, gentlemen, for your efforts. I know this was distasteful, but good sense prevailed on all sides. It was a fine resolution for everyone.”

 

Mark nodded. “We appreciated all your hard work, Judge. My apologies for my colleague’s vitriol earlier. He has a bit of a temper.”

 

“Not at all,” Hartman said, eyes twinkling at Quinn’s sputtered indignation. “We Irish enjoy a good scuffle, isn’t that right, Dr. Donovan?”

 

Quinn grinned. “Ye’ve the right of it there, Judge. And if ye be of a like mind, we’ll be takin’ ye out for a bit of a celebratory libation.” He clapped Mark on the shoulder. “He’s buyin’.”

 

~tbc~


	10. Mopping up the mess...

~*~*~*~

 

“Professor, I don’t think you can go in there-”

 

Adele waved the nervous secretary off with an airy gesture. “Mais bien sur. I can, and I shall. Merci.” She knocked twice, then without waiting for a response, strode into the conference room, high heels clacking confidently on the tiled floor. “Excusez-moi, messieurs, but I am here on behalf of mon cher ami and colleague, Professor Quinntrell Donovan.”

 

The Board of Governors stared in collective silence. Mark Winters rose to his feet. “Professor Gauliere, I’m afraid this is a private meeting-” he began, but she cut him off with a glance.

 

“I am perfectly aware of the reason behind this meeting,” she said calmly. “And I have come to be sure the Board has all the information it needs to make an informed decision.” She gave a sharp nod and took a seat next to Mark. Her blue eyes dared anyone in the room to try to evict her.

 

“Adele, what are you doing?” Mark whispered urgently. “You can’t just barge in here like this. Please-”

 

She cast a brilliant smile in the direction of the Board President, then turned to Mark. “But, Dean Winters, did you not get the memo telling you that I would be attending? Alors, good help can be so difficult to find these days.” She reached into her slim eelskin attaché. “Fortunately, I have an extra copy with me.” With a flourish, she laid it on the table.

 

“Professor Gauliere,” President Velderrain said politely, “won’t you share with us why you’re here this morning?”

 

“Bien sur, Monsieur le President. As I said, I believe it is tres important that you have complete information with regard to the unfortunate matter of Mademoiselle Criton.” She cast a sideways glance at Mark, who was clearly at a loss for words.

 

“Professor,” one of the Board members spoke up deferentially, “We are all aware of, and have the utmost respect for your… relationship with Professor Donovan. This is undoubtedly a difficult time for you. But really, there is no need to involve yourself in what must be a painful-”

 

She interrupted him so smoothly, it was as if he had stopped of his own accord. “Mais non, Monsieur, vous me comprenez mal. Excuse me,” she said, modestly ducking her head, “I am afraid that I sometimes… *sometimes* forget to speak en anglais outside the classroom.”

 

The men all quickly nodded, murmuring assent. Mark sat back in mute admiration. Whatever she was up to, she didn’t need his help.

 

Elegant and poised, Adele sat forward in her chair. Sunlight from the windows haloed her silver-blonde hair and illuminated her aristocratic features. The very room itself seemed to be holding its collective breath. 

 

“You have been advised of a so-called ‘illicit’ relationship between Professor Donovan and Mr. Ben Kensington, n’est-ce pas? And for this, you feel it necessary to take action against both men. I am here to, how do you say, ‘set the record straight.’” 

 

She waited until all eyes were on her, then continued. “Professor Donovan and I have known each other for several years. He has been my good friend and colleague since I first came to this fine institution.” She smiled, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “He is an exemplary instructor, and a gentleman of the first order. I hold him in the highest regard. The Academy is fortunate to have him. Mr. Kensington, I have also had the pleasure of knowing for some time. He is an upstanding young man, and an invaluable asset to this facility. He has worked tirelessly, single-handedly and often without the praise he so richly deserves, to keep our operations running smoothly.” 

 

Her manner and her tone subtly changed. “It has been rumored for some time past that Professor Donovan and I are romantically aligned. It has been quite the topic du jour. We have been asked repeatedly when we will ‘make it official,’ while enduring less-than-discreet rumors and conjectures about the campus as to the exact nature of our relationship. No one ever questioned whether either of us *minded* others prying into our private lives.” 

 

She gave a small ladylike sigh. “But recently, for reasons known only to yourselves, it has become a matter of the utmost concern to the governing body of this institution that Professor Donovan’s romantic interests might lie… elsewhere.” She shook her head, as if the whole issue was not only bewildering, but more than a little distasteful. “Please tell me, messieurs, how is it anyone’s business but that of the parties involved?”

 

“Professor Gauliere,” President Velderrain began, “the issue is not so much whether Professor Donovan is involved in any romantic liaison, with yourself or otherwise, so much as he is alleged to have been intimately involved with a *student*.”

 

“Mais non!” Adele cried. “That is an absolute falsehood, and it maligns an honorable man who is not even here to defend himself!” She abruptly stood, petite body quivering in fury. “It is a bald-faced lie, and I can *prove* it to you!”

 

“Adele, please,” Mark implored.

 

“Non, Mark!” she retorted angrily. “I cannot remain silent and watch Quinn be thrown to the wolves!” She turned indignantly back to the Board. “Mademoiselle Criton has been forcing her unwelcome attentions on poor Professor Donovan since her freshman year. And, of course, the more he refused her advances, the more determined she became to succeed with him. I myself have witnessed her harassment of him on more than one occasion, and urged him to report her. But, honorable man that he is, he declined, having no wish to embarrass himself or this administration, even though it gave him a great deal of personal anguish.” She turned to Mark. “The night of the Halloween party last year, you remember, he evicted the young lady because of her untoward behavior.”

 

Mark nodded reluctantly. “It’s true, Mr. President. She made a scene over some imagined slight, and Professor Donovan, in his capacity as her department chairman, had her escorted from the premises.” He didn’t add that the “scene” had involved Ben Kensington. If any of the Board who had attended remembered, they made no comment.

 

Adele beamed at him. “Exactment. And only a few weeks ago, she invaded the graduation dinner at Professor Donovan’s home. An *Academy-sanctioned* event, by invitation only. Against his better judgment, he allowed her to stay, only because he did not wish to spoil the celebration for his *invited* guests.” Her voice shook with barely suppressed annoyance. “Et la petite garce rewarded his accommodation by attempting to seduce and blackmail him in his own home!” 

 

Mark wasn’t sure if the shocked looks around the table were from the allegation, or the fact that Adele had just called Xandra Criton a bitch. In French.

 

“It is absolutely true!” she continued. “I know, gentlemen, because he *telephoned* me while she was there. I heard their conversation. He made it clear that she was not welcome in his home and ordered her to leave immediately, or the police would remove her. When she protested her so-called ‘love’ for him, he told her that she was wasting both their times. He has never -- *never* -- availed himself of the attentions thrust upon him by his students during his tenure. Nor would he ever consider doing so.” Her haughty sniff said even the thought offended her sensibilities.

 

“Ahem, thank you, Professor,” President Velderrain responded, after several minutes’ uncomfortable silence. “Your testimony is noted. It is… regrettable that you found it necessary to come here, but I am sure that Professor Donovan appreciates your efforts.”

 

“I am sure,” Adele agreed calmly. She poured a glass of water from Mark’s carafe and sipped. “But I am not finished.”

 

“You have something… more to add?”

 

“Mais bien sur. Concerning the allegations of an intimate relationship between Professor Donovan and Mr. Kensington.”

 

Mark bowed his head to hide his smile. The petite Parisienne was on a roll. Quinn, he thought, I wish you were here to see this. She’s magnificent. 

 

“Ahem,” the President said, looking around the table. “Professor, no one appreciates your efforts more than this Board in defending Professor Donovan, but-”

 

“*And* Mr. Kensington,” she added firmly. “I am here on *both* their behalves, messieurs. As neither of them is here to speak for himself.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I am here, Monsieur le President,” she repeated firmly, “on behalf of Quinntrell Donovan *and* Benjamin Kensington. You believe these upstanding professional men must be degenerates, simply because they have feelings for one another. Quelle stupidité. Ben Kensington is a fine man, and Quinn cares for him a great deal. I am in the best position to know this. They are together because of me, messieurs, and I could not be more thrilled. They have enjoyed each other’s company without harm to anyone these last several months. If not for Mademoiselle Criton’s cowardly epistle to Dean Winters, you would even now be unaware of it, n’est-ce pas? Because *neither* of them had any desire to make it a matter of public record. Not because they were ashamed! Mais non! But because it was – and is -- no one’s business but their own. Quinn’s and my alleged liaison amoureuse has generated far too much salacious gossip over the years. Why would either of them wish to be the brunt of even *more* jests?” 

 

Several Board members looked embarrassed. Mark looked suitably abashed as well.

 

Adele eyed each Board member in turn. “If anyone were to be ‘harmed’ by their being in a relationship, you believe that I am the one who stands to lose the most. But I am *delighted* that they have found one another. As you should be.” She resumed her seat.

 

“You should run for office,” Mark whispered to her. 

 

“Perhaps one day, I shall.” 

 

President Velderrain cleared his throat and looked around the room. No one spoke; a few looked down at their hands. “Professor Gauliere, this Board appreciates your insight. Rest assured, it will be given all due consideration. Thank you for coming.” 

 

Adele rose and the men in the room stood respectfully. “Merci beaucoup, messieurs,” she said politely.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn opened the front door. “Mark, nice to see you. Come on in.”

 

“Damn, Quinn, that dog gets bigger every time I see him,” the Dean complained. “What’re you feeding him?”

 

“Whatever falls off the lab tables. Frogs, mice, the occasional finger. Cheaper than dog food, and more protein, besides.”

 

“I can believe it. Mind if I help myself?” Mark said over his shoulder, heading for the breakfront in the living room.

 

“Make it two.”

 

Drinks in hand, the men sat facing each other. After a few minutes’ silence, Mark spoke. “Quinn, I’ve come about Ben Kensington. The Board of Governors isn’t thrilled about the two of you… you know…” He trailed off uncomfortably.

 

“Feckin’?” Quinn supplied helpfully.

 

Mark winced. “Real mature, Donovan. Be serious.”

 

“I’m very serious,” Quinn replied. “Perhaps you’d prefer ‘fornicating.’ Call it what it is.” The smile didn’t quite reach the blue eyes.

 

“Your *affair*,” Mark continued doggedly, “is a matter of some concern. It doesn’t look good for the school. The Board was ready to fire him.”

 

Quinn slammed his glass down on the table. “Let ‘em try! I’ll have a lawsuit in their hands before the day’s out. I said it before, Mark: they will not be allowed to make Ben a scapegoat. He had nothing to do with the whole Criton debacle, and our *relationship* is none of their damned business.” He leaned forward, and pointed a finger at the Dean of Students. “There won’t be any confidentiality agreement, either. Straight to the papers I’ll be goin’ with it. Front page, above the line.”

 

“Shut your pie hole, damn it! I’m not your enemy,” Mark said harshly. 

 

Quinn made a visible effort to restrain himself. “No, ye’re nae,” he said, the strong brogue evidence of his consternation. “But we be nae exactly allies on the point, either. Havena ye made yer opinion clear enough on that before now?”

 

“Are you going to be quiet and listen, or have I wasted my time coming over here?” Mark demanded. This wasn’t two friends having a philosophical debate: the Dean of Students was commanding the attention and respect of his department chairman. Quinn marginally subsided, but the fire in his eyes said he wouldn’t hesitate to throw the other man out on his arse.

 

“Now,” Winters said, “as I was saying, the Board *was* ready to terminate Mr. Kensington’s employment. However, the situation with the Critons having been… amicably resolved” – Quinn made a rude noise – “and having no *proof* of any wrongdoing on his part, they’ve agreed to… reconsider.” Due, in no small part, to the testimony of a feisty Frenchwoman, who apparently hadn’t seen fit to inform the parties involved. 

 

There was a wary nod from the other side of the room. 

 

“Obviously, the Board has concerns as to how public knowledge of your… relationship… might impact the school’s reputation.” He held up a hand as Quinn opened his mouth. “No, damn it, you sit there and be quiet until I’m finished. Then you can have your say.” He was gratified to see a grudging respect in the steely blue eyes. It didn’t happen often. He pressed his advantage.

 

“I have been authorized to make you the following proposal: you and Kensington agree, as an addendum to both your contracts, to avoid any suggestion of personal involvement while on campus, or engaged in any Academy-related activity. What you do away from the grounds is your own business, *unless* it is related to a school function.” He shook his head. “No second chances, Quinn,” he added. “One slip-up and he’s gone.” 

 

Quinn sipped his whiskey. “Thank you for going to bat for us, Mark,” he said slowly. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

 

Mark nodded. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” And probably wouldn’t have gotten that much, if not for Adele storming the battlements, he thought.

 

“I take it you’ve not said anything to Ben?” 

 

“No, I thought it best to come to you first, so you could discuss it between yourselves.”

 

“So, my good behavior is a condition of his continued employment,” Quinn mused.

 

Mark smiled in acknowledgement of the irony. “More or less. You’re tenured. The general consensus was they’d have to blast you out of the Ferguson Building with dynamite. Not to mention, we’d probably see the entire department walk out in a body, just so that none of them would be forced into the chairman’s spot.”

 

Quinn grimaced. “It’s a thankless job, and no mistake. Having to deal with amadons like yourself over budgets and the like.” He threw back the remainder of his drink in one long swallow. “I’ll talk to Ben. Thank ye, Mark. You’re a good man.”

 

Mark rose and Quinn walked him to the door. “I want you to know how sorry I am, Quinn. I wish it was better news. I tried.”

 

“I know ye did, mate. And I know how much it must have pained you to do it, but I’m grateful, all the same.” They shook hands. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben sat numbly on the sofa, trying to take it all in. In spite of Quinn’s totally brilliant rout of the whole Criton conspiracy, all he heard was that their affair was an embarrassment to the school, and the Board of Governors wanted them gone. 

 

“They’re nae askin’ us to do anything we’ve not been doin’ already, love,” Quinn said persuasively. “Dinna we say we dinna want to go public? Nothin’s changed.”

 

Yeah, right, Ben thought bitterly. Don’t you get it, you adorable delusional fool? I’ve got a guillotine hanging over my head, and they’ll be watching us both like a herd of feral cats watching a mouse hole. The hypocritical bastards. Any other school in the country and it wouldn’t be an issue. This place is a fucking time capsule! Aloud, he said merely, “I get it, Quinn. We just keep going the way we’ve been.” He shrugged. “At least they’ll have to quit asking about you and Adele gettin’ hitched.”

 

Quinn pulled him into a comforting hug. “It’ll all come right, you’ll see. I won’t let anything happen to you. Just give ’em a bit o’ time to get used to the idea, then it’ll all be in the past. I love you.”

 

“I love you, too,” Ben mumbled into Quinn’s shirtfront. 

 

He wanted to believe Quinn was right…

 

~tbc~


	11. Epilogue

~*~*~*~

 

“Have you thought this through, Mr. Kensington? The letter’s been destroyed, and will not be part of your permanent file. You’ve had a number of years with us, and while I may not have said as much, you are an asset to the school. We’d hate to lose you.”

 

Ben shook his head. “Thank you, Dean Winters, but I feel this is the right decision. Not just because of the letter, but… well, it’s time.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell the Dean the real reason, that he wouldn’t be the cause of Quinn’s being labeled “that crazy faggot professor in the biology department.” 

 

“You’ve discussed this with Quinn, of course.”

 

“No, sir,” Ben replied truthfully. “This is between you and me. He doesn’t have to know.”

 

“He *will* know, Mr. Kensington. How could he not?” 

 

Ben shrugged. “Because I’ll break it off with him and leave. It’ll hurt for a little while, but he’ll get over it. He’s a big boy.”

 

The Dean sat quietly for several long moments, apparently deep in thought. Just as Ben was about to ask if the meeting was over, he spoke. “You do know he refused to consider any resolution of the situation with the Critons without an ironclad guarantee that you would not be adversely impacted.” At Ben’s startled look, he nodded affirmatively. “You, young Walker, or anyone else. He also insisted on full confidentiality agreements, and that any violation would void the entire deal.” He gave Ben a long searching look. “He obviously cares for you very much.”

 

Nonplussed, Ben said nothing. Quinn had talked nonsense about retaliatory strikes, but Ben had assumed it was just that. Just talk. But, as usual, he’d taken matters into his own hands, and damn the torpedoes. “I’m sure he had his reasons, sir,” Ben said carefully. Typical bullheaded Irishman. He could at least have *told* me first, instead of just plowing ahead on his own! 

 

And aren’t you doing the very same thing to him right now? the voice in his head argued. 

 

Shut up. I know what I’m doing.

 

So did he. 

 

Mark leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps we might meet with the Board privately,” he suggested. “Knowing Quinn, he’ll not back down. You’ve surely learned that by now.” He gave Ben a thin smile. “Of course, if you truly wish to resign, that is your right, with the proper advance notice under your contract. I… I can appreciate your position.” 

 

Ben nodded, still trying to navigate the shifting currents in the room. It had almost sounded like an apology. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He *would* be an adult. He would *not* blubber like a baby who’s just had his favorite rattle broken by another toddler. 

 

“Have you another position lined up?” Winters asked politely. 

 

What, you thought I was going to just sit on my ass and mooch off of Quinn? Ben thought irritably. Well, I never have before, and I sure as hell don’t intend to start now! I know what you’re thinking, that Quinn’s having some kind of mid-life crisis, and I’ve just been taking advantage of him. Well, fuck you, and the horse you rode in on! I’ll move so far away he can’t find me. Adele can pick up the pieces. She’s good at that. “I’ll manage,” he said, through stiff lips. 

 

Winters regarded him with what almost seemed like regret. “Don’t act too hastily, son,” he cautioned. “Why not think it over and get back to me?” 

 

“Thank you, sir,” Ben replied, “but my mind’s made up.” He stood up. “Consider this my two weeks’ notice.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Mark watched out his window as Kensington made his way slowly down the sidewalk. Much as he might personally dislike the idea of two men together sexually, he had to admire the young man’s courage in taking such a drastic action, solely to avoid causing Quinn further harm. True, he and Kensington had had a caustic relationship over the years, but he was admittedly a capable -- some would even say gifted -- IT expert. Replacing him would be problematic. 

 

Dealing with the fallout would be harder still, but that was a headache for another day. 

 

He reached for the intercom button. “Deborah, come in for some dictation, please.”

 

~the end~


End file.
